Hexx
by Bedlam Flux
Summary: He Whispers Like clouds In A Rainstorm. B&E. AU. Previously Fatale.
1. Freedom Is Not Free

_**Another new one, so sue me.**_

_**AU.****Strange.****Twisted.****Dark.**_

**_You know, the usual.__

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_ **

**_Preface_**

_**F**reedom **I**s **N**ot **F**ree_

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_**I clutched the knife to my chest**,_ my head tilted back against the bookshelf, my breathing harder than it should be in stealth. My lip trembled as my thoughts lingered on the task I'd been presented with. Could I carry it out? Or would I disappoint everyone with not completing the cataclysmic act that was necessary in our effort? I took another deep breath, feeling my chest constrict painfully as it allowed passage to the air.

The door at the other end of the large office opened, and in strode the man I'd been waiting over an hour for. He loosened his tie as I peeked around the edge of the bookshelf, coming to sit at his desk—facing away from me just as I had expected. My body hid itself once more before I took a deep breath, my bare feet making no noise on the carpeted floor as I strode across it.

He stiffened as the cold metal of the dagger met the sensitive skin on his throat and I could see his Adam's apple bob once as he swallowed.

"Who are you?" he asked softly—the gentlest tone I'd ever heard him use.

I said nothing for a moment, moving my other hand to his shoulder, "I'm your reaper Mr. Hathaway."

He reached up slowly, as if to grasp my hand that held the knife, but I pressed it into his neck, drawing little blood, "Don't move, Congressman."

I saw his cheeks quirk up—the bastard was _smiling_.

"I hope you have the gall to grin in Hell," I hissed, letting my eyes drift over the belongings on his desk. They connected with those of his children in a photograph—Arielle and Luke, and for a moment I could only feel remorse. Would his family miss this monster?

"Perhaps not," he conceded quietly, "but you, woman, shall arrive there before I."

"I doubt that, Hathaway."

He laid both of his hands flat on the desk, "Why do you do this? I can offer you things you'd never dream of. Wouldn't you rather a house on a beach somewhere than in the slums you currently reside in?"

I bent my head, lowering my lips to his ear, "I'd rather be free to _make_ that choice."

My blade dragged swiftly across his skin, and his chin sunk gradually to meet his collarbone. I wiped the knife on the back of his business jacket, stowing it once again in the pockets of my peasant's dress. My steps were once again light and soundless as I padded across the room and out into the hallway. There was no one there—or so I thought until I ran into a cold, hard chest.

My eyes locked with those of Q, Mr. Hathaway's personal body guard and, if need arose, hired hit man. His dark hair was matted to his forehead, and the suit he wore clung to his muscles in a way that did not flatter him. I _knew_ he knew, he could read it in my eyes, and the guards that had rushed into the room only confirmed his suspicions with their shocked exclamations. He pulled my hands from inside the folds of my dress, the sticky blood there glinting crimson in the moonlight.

"Clever," he whispered, "but was it worth it your life, little one?"

_

* * *

_

_One more time steal my breath_

_I'll feed you the sky._

_I will show you how._

_Steal the glamour from death_

_And before you die,_

_Oh, you should see.

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_


	2. Struck By Subtlety

_**This story takes place in a time that intermingles past, present and future. The year is 3045. Humanity has slipped back into a dark age. Natural resources are almost exhausted, and monarchs have become increasingly more popular. The Americas are nearly barren—because, let's face it, at the end of the world, us Americans are screwed. Technology is a dead concept. Basically, it's the 1100's all over again. **__**Which would be pretty damn cool in my opinion, though it'll probably never happen.**_

_**So, enjoy.

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**_

_"the first casualty in wartime is truth…"_

_anonymous

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_**S**__truck __**B**__y __**S**__ubtl__ety

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_

_**I stood on my tiptoes on the platform**_, the noose around my neck already tight—a promise of what was to come. I wondered if I'd be like most and my neck would snap, and I would gasp before dying. Or would I hang there, twitching, trying to get air into my lungs, knowing it was a fruitless effort? Would I see the faces of the people I'd died for and think 'was it worth your life, little one?'. Or would I be noble and accept my fate? Close my eyes and die a respectable death with only twenty one years of life to reminisce about in purgatory…

"Perhaps we should just behead her?"

_Yes_. A beheading. Take my head off with that axe and save me the pain of options. A clean cut and my life would be over. No alternatives.

"No, too messy to clean up. And the executioner likes to complain about the blood spatter quite a bit."

Q was enjoying my pain, making his voice loud enough for me to hear. His anonymous companion seemed to catch on, and offered more options—all of them getting more gruesome by the moment.

"Well, carry on with it then."

Q appeared before me, his handsome face the last thing I knew I'd see in this life, "what a waste," he muttered, twirling a lock of my hair between his fingers, "any last words, angel?"

"Yeah," I choked, chortling shortly, "fuck you."

"Hmm," he stepped back from me, smiling.

"Sir!" a shout from the crowd drew Q's attention, and he spun, watching the young guard dressed in black proceed through the onlookers. His eyes darkened, and he frowned. When the boy reached the platform, he grasped his stomach, bending over.

"What is it?" Q growled, "I'm in the _middle_ of something."

"You mustn't kill her!" my heart fluttered, and suddenly there was no noise in the square, only the blissful sound of the young boy's voice, "She's to be questioned," he locked eyes with the muscle man, "intensely."

Q raised his eyebrows at the last word, a sick, twisted smile creeping upon his face. In those few seconds—where he stared at me and I, back at him—I was scared. Death seemed like a simple task compared to the torture I saw planned in Q's onyx eyes. I suddenly regretted uttering what were meant to be my last words.

"Perfect."

* * *

My cell was cold. And dark. And wet. 

I wondered if all dungeons were so cliché, but the thought passed from my mind as I heard the jingle of keys in the hallway. Every other prisoner clutched their prison bars, their agonizing screams piercing my heart. Some begged for death while others pleaded for their lives. Most, I knew, had committed petty crimes. Some hadn't committed any crimes at all but fighting for the rights they were meant to have at birth.

The keys were attached to a man-beast with an intricate scar across his left eye resembling barbed wire. He looked at me with his good, blue eye, and the corner of his mouth that was not ruined lifted into a grotesque smile. I pressed my breasts to the pole, clutching it as he entered my cell.

"It's time for your questioning," even his voice sounded mangled as he addressed me, "They're waiting for you."

_That's nice_.

He pulled me up by my arms, nearly ripping my hands from the wrists. I glared at him as he dragged me from the cell, leading me up a pair of winding stairs—and towards my persecution.

"You've caused an uproar, you know," the man growled out, his Irish lilt an inconsequential comfort. He sounded like a man of the rebellion—like Charlie—though I knew he was far from being a part of the resistance. "The Insurgence has seen it fit to storm the Congressman Dulcate's castle in Cantwell."

He frowned down at me—or perhaps that was his normal expression, "But I s'ppose your happy to hear that."

I smirked, staying quiet.

He jerked me forward as we reached the tower, pushing me into a room lit only by candles. Electricity was becoming scant—and I mourned the loss of simple technology. No television, no computers—no refrigerators. Humanity was slipping.

"Ah," Q leaned by the only window that was boarded shut, a man on his left, and one of more importance standing farthest from me—shrouded in shadow. I stiffened as the guard bowed once to his superiors and then excused himself, closing and locking the door behind him as he made his way back to the prison cells, "didn't I tell you she was a pretty little thing?"

I scowled at Q, watching with sharp eyes as his glance darted to the mystery man in the corner and then back to me. His irises were not black as they usually were. No, today they were burgundy—a hollow claret. I'd never seen a man with such eyes.

He took several steps toward me, looking at my hands with disdain, "I told that fool to chain you."

I shrugged, keeping my face stoic, "Must've forgotten."

I saw the man in the corner shift, and I wondered if he was smiling by the way the candlelight caught his uplifted cheek. His eyes, bright as topaz, shone through the misty darkness, and I was momentarily entrance by their brightness. Q's hand descended onto my shoulder, and he steered me towards a chair in the center of the room.

"Let's not waste time, eh?" he chortled, and my lip curled.

"You murdered the Congressman, Isabella. Why?"

The question came from the lesser man, the one I could clearly see. His blond hair waved softly over his green eyes, but he was hardly a vision. His nose had been broken many times, and the corner of his top lip was burned badly, putting a permanent pinch on his mouth.

"He was killing innocent slaves," I offered with no smile, no frown, "he needed to be stopped."

Q shook his head, "_No_. Charles wouldn't kill him for that," he grasped my chin in his stone-cold grasp, "_Tell_ me why."

"I told you," I whispered, trying to wrestle his hands away with my spindly fingers, "he was killing without cause."

"Fine," Q nearly threw me away from him, almost breaking his impassive façade, and I rubbed my sore jaw, "tell me something else. Who are you Isabella?""Exactly who it says in my file," I spat, crossing my arms over my chest. Something about my obstinacy angered him, and he took one of my arms into his more than capable hands. I felt the blow before I even saw it, and felt another follow immediately after. His hand remained on my cheek, cradling it as my head spun. I could see stars before my vision, and my mind swam through a thick fog.

"We captured Charles' wife early this morning," Q told me, searching my eyes for any sort of reaction. He lowered his frozen mouth to my ear, "and her filthy blood spilled out onto the dirt in an act of retribution for Mr. Hathaway."

Eyes wide, my world faded away, and I had to bite my lip to keep from screaming. I could feel my stomach drop into my toes, my heart follow as if tethered to an invisible string. It felt as if he'd hit me in the chest, crushed my lungs, squeezed my gut until it exploded.

Tears stung at the corner of my eyes and I lowered my head until the feeling passed. My mother, my poor, harebrained Renee. Dead as if it were merely some daydream.

"This hurts you," Q murmured, his lips still moving against my ear, "I can smell the salt of your tears, hear the fast thrumming of your heart."

"It obviously affects her more than it should. She _knows_ Charles. _Well_."

It was the first time I heard him speak, and I raised my eyes to the handsome stranger in the corner. The tears morphed my vision, but I could see half his face now, beauty personified.

"No I don't," I muttered uselessly. I might as well have said '_he's not my father, not at all'_.

Q looked down at me, and then smiled, and no smile had ever sent chills down my back the way his did. Again, he could read the emotion in my eyes, and his hand moved down the curve of my neck, curling around my throat. He pressed his thumb into my jugular, lessening my air.

"What is he to you?"

I stared up at him, my eyes cold, hard, immovable, "Nothing but a leader."

Q growled—a feral sound of impatience. I could feel his hand crushing my neck, before I was released, coughing and spluttering. The man in the corner had appeared next to Q, prying the older man's digits from my skin. There would be bruises there in the morning. If I _lived_ until morning.

"She won't talk," his gold eyes roamed over my face, coming to rest on my neck. I let my fingers rub the sore spots as I looked at the both of them, speaking so quietly I couldn't hear. Their lips were moving at light speed, and it was hard even to make out the murmurings.

"Take her back to her cell," Q finally snarled, motioning to the minion who was pressed back against the wall, his face more pale than when I had glimpsed him last. He strode forward, taking me by the arm, and dragged me towards the door. Was he as eager to get out of the room as I was?

The golden-eyed man and Q were still locked in intense conversation as the armor-clad guard slammed the door shut.

"Come _on_, girl, can't you walk any faster?"

I dug my bare feet into the cement of the prison, stalling to see if I could find a way out of here. All of the windows we passed were both boarded and barred shut, and even the light could hardly find an entrance. The floor of my cell was pure cobble, so tunneling wouldn't be plausible either. I tried hard to accept that I'd never see the sun again, or the trees, or the green, green hills that seemed to stretch on for years back home.

Charlie's eyes, ones that so resembled my own, flashed before my eyes—just another thing I'd never see again. The warmth, the fierce determination, the years and years of experience embedded deep within them. My father, the leader of this everlasting rebellion—would he live to see the outcome of his struggles?

I hoped only _I'd_ die in here, being questioned until the truth of my identity and my purpose was brought to fruition—which, as long as I remained sane, would never happen.

"There," the guard sneered as he shoved me forcefully back into my holding, his sick smile cut into pieces by the bars, "now don't you move," he mocked.

My lip curled, "Oh, I'll try my hardest."

My eyes wandered around the cell, watching as slime collected around the junctions of wall and ceiling. I could hear rats scurrying though there were none currently in sight. It wasn't that I had lived any better in the place I called home—but it was _mine_. My rats, my slime, my rain pouring through the ceiling during a storm. Something about familiarity made it all well and good.

Did they call this homesickness?

It gnawed at my belly, and I suddenly missed everything—from my father's best friend who had no left eye, and my _mother_… Beautiful Renee with smudges of dirt on her nose, and sticks in her hair, and her dress wet up to the knee from wading into the surf. My throat constricted at the thought of her. Would I truly never smell her scent again? Would she never hug me, laugh with me, tease me about the boys?

I thought of her smile, and her deep, wise eyes…

And in the darkness of my prison, I let myself cry for her.

* * *

"Get up." 

My eyes opened to the bleary light of morning as it shot through a crack in the window boards. Someone was poking my backside with the toe of their shoe, and I groaned as they hit my tailbone.

"Watch it," I growled, my voice dry and scratchy. I'd cried myself to sleep last night as I tried to hold on to the last rays of the moon, and my face displayed my torment. Sticky, blotchy, utterly unattractive, I was sure.

"Sorry, _Princess_," my eyes snapped completely open, and they shot immediately to the mangled guard above me, terrified. He looked down at me with a tempered revulsion, and I felt my stomach clench painfully, as if it were about to empty all of its contents.

"What?" I breathed, wiping the sleep from my face, "what did you call me?"

"You heard him."

I didn't have to look to know it would be Q in the doorway, half shadowed, but wholly satisfied. I wondered, in the moment before I was snatched up by the guard, who it was who'd told him. Perhaps the man upstairs? Did he know more than he had let on the chamber this afternoon?

"Well, come, darling, you shouldn't be down here in a prison cell," Q chastised, earning a harsh growl from me as the guard dragged me past. What would this mean? I closed my eyes as I thought of Charlie. Surely they would use me against him, and he would come for love of his daughter, and he would die for love of his country, for belief in his efforts. I doubt he'd even make it past the gates to this unknown town before he was gunned down.

Would they even let him see me alive, whole before they stopped his heart?

"How did you know?" I asked quietly as Q proceeded before me up a set of wide stairs, his gait elegant and graceful. He moved like water, like a stag.

"Not everyone is immune to questioning, _Bella_," he spat my name as if it were some curse, "actually, there was hardly any questions posed before the bastard spilled his deepest and darkest to us."

"Who?" I barely gasped, my mind scouring names and faces of all our soldiers, trying to spot any weaknesses now, when I could look back on them without the heat of a battle on our tails, "who was it?"

"He called himself Aeron," Q chuckled softly, "that is, before he took an unfortunate dive out of the tower window."

Some small part of me was glad to hear he'd died, while the other part was unsettled by the loss. He'd betrayed us, but then, wouldn't anyone if they thought they could win their life back? _Not me,_ I reminded myself, _but perhaps that's because Charlie is my father?_

We walked a little further, towards a white door with blue trimming—and stopped. The guard turned to me, an intricate set of handcuffs held out in front of him.

"Go on," Q motioned to me, "can't have her assassinating the Royal Family."

I looked up, eyes wide and incredulous, "Were in Dumain?"

"Bristol, actually," Q said, smug as the clink of metal against metal reached his ears, "the castle in Bristol."

I pinched my lips, "And what do you plan to do with me?"

"_That_," Q whistled lowly, taking my chin between his forefinger and thumb, "is for the King to decide."

* * *

I walked before everyone—my public shame. 

Nobles and royals alike peered at me from over their glasses of wine and those tiny little quiches. The ladies whispered excitedly, their husbands and other male cohorts merely staring at me with interest. I silently sentenced Q to one thousand lifetimes in hell for this form of public mortification.

At the end of the hall, he opened another door, ushering me into a separate room where a family sat that I knew only from photographs and legend. The Royal Family, or House Volturi as we rebels liked to call them. Though it said so on paper, they were no kings of ours.

Q bowed before them and I looked away in disgust, locking eyes with a daughter of the House. She was blond and intense, and when she glimpsed me glaring, she wound her arm around her obvious lover, looking down at her expensive shoes.

"Charles' daughter, My Lords," Q smiled back at me, "Miss Isabella Swan—former heir to the throne."

* * *

_already stubborn skin thickens_

_In__ a valiant atte__mpt to understand_

_So understand_

_There's no stopping me_

_**

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I mentioned Bella lived in the slums from her description of her home—she does. But then, why is she royalty? If you read carefully, it says this war has been going on for twenty years, which means she knew one year of castle-life before she and her family were dethroned. **__**And where's Eddie, you might also ask. Be patient my little fan girls. I think this is the best I've ever written Edward, and you will see him soon. **_

_**And yes, vampires exist here, if you haven't already noticed them. But like in Twilight, they're undercover and scattered.**_


	3. Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's Day?

_**I got a review asking about the daughter of the house. Her name is Selene. She's married into the family by way of Caius' only 'son'. Who is, in all actuality, the only person he's ever changed into a vamp.  
**_

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_**S**__hall__** I C**__ompare__** T**__hee ____**T**__o__** A S**__ummer's__** D**__ay_

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**I felt like an animal on display.** In the short seconds after Q spoke, everyone was still, their eyes on me, threatened in a way. I watched as well, looking over the men that had slaughtered my kin, stolen my country, bathed my land in blood. There were four brothers Volturi—Aro, the current King, Caius, Marcus, and Carlisle—all frighteningly powerful, intriguingly intelligent, and far more experienced than any other monarchs. I knew the names of every child, every niece or nephew, every dog and cat. It was vital, my father used to say, to know your enemy as you know yourself. Though I could not place names to faces, except perhaps for Aro, I felt as if I knew each and every ounce of royal blood in the room.

"Isabella?" the older one, Aro I presumed, asked Q, "Charles sent his _daughter_ to kill me?"

Q made a noise in the back of his throat, and I could feel his body vibrate beside mine, "Not you, Lord, but Congressman Hathaway."

Aro's sharp, dark burgundy eyes flicked to me, but I stayed strong in my place. It was said his eyes could pierce through a person, but his hardly wounded the armor of my flesh, "So you're the little minx that killed the Congressman?"

"Men aren't good at playing maids in a noble household," I responded passively, smiling as he rose his brows, "and, as you well know Aro, your Hathaway was a lusty one."

Q growled, but I merely rolled my eyes, letting them rest on the youngest brother, who must have been Carlisle. The youngest brother, fierce and beautiful who had fathered three boys with his wife. He locked eyes with me, quickly dropping them after they rested on my neck and bruised cheek. From the peripheral I saw Aro climbing down the throne, moving towards me. He came to stand just in front of my shadow, smiling still, even though I had clearly insulted him.

"Isabella, I must say, you have your mother's image," his knuckles grazed my cheek, "Lovely."

"You will not speak of my mother, Sir," I hissed, "it's _your_ hands that bear her blood."

He waved me away, "A mistake, her death."

I laughed, cold and cruel, and completely unlike me, "Mistakes are merely acts we do not wish to claim responsibility for."

Aro chuckled, and I saw his eyes rest upon my neck, "Quinn," he addressed Q now, and I smiled at the man's full name finally revealed, "what have you don't to poor Isabella?"

"A little slip of my temper, Sire." Q nodded his head at me, as if he were apologizing. I brought my chained hands up to my neck, then dropped them as the wounds were sensitive, "She can be rather difficult."

"Like Charles, of course," Aro smiled again, "But back to business, love," he looked down at me, "what shall we do with you darling Isabella? I do not believe prison is the right place for a princess. And killing you would be just _cruel_. Losing his wife and daughter in the same week, how sad for Charles."

I held my breath, "He won't come for me."

Aro licked his lips, "He will, in time, and with the right incentive."

I hated the wicked gleam in Aro's eyes as he looked back at his large family, letting his gaze rest on his brothers, "Caius, Marcus, Carlisle, come. We have things to discuss."

-

I was sat in a state room of the castle, my hands bound, my feet, thankfully, free.

And I was alone.

Q wouldn't have to worry about an escape attempt, having stationed guards at every exit, every entrance, every_where_. I sighed as I brought both my hands up to wipe away the hair that had fallen into my face. Before I'd been imprisoned in this slightly nicer cell, they'd promised me a bath, a bed that wasn't made of bricks, and a pillow that wasn't infested with fleas.

So far, I'd seen none of the above.

I could hear the guards speaking outside the door, and the party still going on down the hall. It was winding down—for the sun was already peeking through the windows, and people were beginning to grow tired. I wondered if the rich partied until dawn all the time, or if this was a rare occasion.

What were they celebrating anyhow? The death of Renee, woman of the rebellion? The capture of Charles' daughter? A birthday? A wedding? The possibilities were endless, and my mind tired of running through them just as the door at the other end of the room creaked open.

I knew as well as she that she shouldn't be in here. Her face was creased with worry, her lip between her teeth an obvious give away of that anxiety. She was a lovely little nymph with her hair short, her golden eyes wild, and her face filled with youthful joviality. That is until her joy slipped away and our eyes connected.

She walked towards me, her gait nervous as her gaze. Her knees hit the floor softly, elegantly, and her hands found mine, "Isabella, isn't it?"

I made a noise of assent, wondering what exactly she was doing in here. We were enemies after all, and she had no reason to pity me. But pity me she did, for I could feel it in her freezing touch.

"They shouldn't have you tied up like this," she muttered to herself, "you're not some common rabble."

"And if I was?" I whispered, "would it be okay if I were tied up then?"

She looked up at me, abashed of her words, "I suppose not." Unlike all the other women I'd known, she did not blush as I corrected her.

"So which one are you?" I asked, pulling my hands from hers, "Rosalie? Selene? Alice?"

She nodded once, shortly, "Alice."

"You waste your time in here, Alice. Were I in your place, I would not pity you."

She smiled then, a small, delicate blossom, "You would," she said slowly.

"Why are you here?" I asked, ignoring her statement. Of course I would pity her. It wasn't her fault, after all, that her family was a bunch of power-hungry individuals. It wasn't her fault that her Uncle had decided that he did not have enough with just England. No, he needed Ireland and Scotland under his belt too.

"Just to see the mysterious prisoner," she gave a fake smile, "so that I can tell everyone all about you later, of course."

I glowered, "Really."

She sucked in her lower lip, "To say sorry," she breathed, "for your mother, Renee."

I looked away from the girl at my feet and towards the far door she'd entered from, "Who was it that killed her?"

"A general. Marx."

Marx. I'd remember that name.

The door once again creaked open, and Alice rose in one, fluid motion, facing it. She looked so much the warrior now, no emotion evident on her face. She'd become a blank slate, and had she not been asking my forgiveness moments before, I would not think her so kind.

"Lady?" A man had entered, his fatigues those of a warrior, "how did you get in here? And why?"

She shrugged her shoulders, faintly lowering her head, "Just speaking with Isabella."

The man cast a quick look in my direction, then back at Alice, "Jasper is looking high and low for you," he smiled a bit, showing pearly white teeth, "…something about a game of gin in Rosalie's front room."

Alice's mouth spread into a sweet smile, "That sounds nice," when she turned back to me, she was frowning, "good night, Isabella."

I did not answer her, merely dropped my head a little lower to my chest, feeling the strain of the chair on my back. I watched her feet move, carrying her to the door where I watched her slip by the guard. He winked at me, smirking, before he shut the door, leaving me in solitude once again.

"Jerk," I muttered, slouching back into my seat. I could have gotten up, moved around, but what was the point? The windows did not open—weren't ever meant to. And I was not so small as a mouse that I could scurry out through their holes.

I sat in the room for what seemed like a lifetime, watching as the candelabras dwindle down to nothing, extinguishing themselves. The sun rose, slightly tinged pink, over the horizon and illuminated the room. My wrists were beginning to chafe, and I shifted uncomfortably, wanting to go to the door, to demand that they tell me what was happening.

Were the brothers still deliberating? Or was this my sentence, to be, literally bored to death?

Just as I let my head fall back over the spine of the chair, the door once again opened, revealing two of the four brothers.

"Isabella," Aro greeted me with false cheer, his dark crimson eyes alight with mischief. Carlisle said nothing, merely seated himself on the window sill and watched me, his golden eyes reminding me of his daughter in law. Her kindness had been genuine, but why?

"What's the verdict, Aro?" I drawled, exhaustion creeping into my tone, "or are you just on an intermission?"

He chuckled, sitting down in a chair that had been placed before me when I'd first been brought in to this dreadful room, "No, no. We've decided that its best if you stay here with us," he smiled, his papery skin echoing it threefold, "not as a prisoner, of course, but a guest. Perhaps you will be able to tell Charles that life beneath my rule is not as bad as he describes."

I shook my head, "That's doubtful. _Very_ doubtful, Aro, and you know it," I narrowed my eyes, my tongue tripping as it tried to keep up with my mind, "what are you playing at?"

He stood, coming forward to release me of my bonds, "Nothing, dear girl, whatever would make you think this was some sort of game?"

* * *

I sunk deeper into the lavender water of the bath, feeling very much the traitor. My father was out there now, fighting for my freedom, and I was bathing in the enemy's castle. Did he know I was here, under Aro's watchful eye? Had word reached him of my capture?

My mind wandered back to Ireland, to the little path that led to the village my family had fled to after the invasion. My father had been welcomed there with open arms, people only too happy to have their exiled king among them. Renee, a Scot, had gone back to her people for a while after war broke out—just until things blew over. It wasn't that they were in love—theirs being an arranged marriage—but Charlie and Renee were tied to each other in a way that was beyond words. She'd come back almost immediately, claiming to have missed me, but her eyes were only for Charlie.

I thought back to Old Billy as well, my father's best friend whose right eye had been taken out in the Battle of Journeyed River. To his son, Jacob, who was my age… He was most prominent in my memories of home, his kind, handsome face easy to recall. We'd been inseparable before I'd volunteered to take up the position of maid in the Congressman's household. He was the boy who gave me my first kiss, who first told me he loved me. Even though he knew I would never love him in return.

I ran a hand through my dark hair, feeling the silky strands slip between my fingers. I hadn't been this clean in a while, and I reveled in the feeling of purity. My dirtied clothes lay in a pile at the foot of the tub, the smell coming from them a stark contrast to the delicious aromas drifting up from my bath. Taking a lavender flower into my palm, I smoothed the petals with a course finger, allowing myself to smile.

The castle was beautiful, rich in its culture. I wondered what kings had dwelled here before the family Volturi. Catharine of Aragon had been exiled here, I knew, after her divorce from her husband. And her daughter, Mary, had once called this place home.

"You're going to shrivel up like a prune."

I gasped, my arms immediately wrapping around my chest. My eyes narrowed, and I looked up at the intruder.

My resolve hardly lasted, for how can one glare into eyes of an angel? The man, no, the demigod, stood at the end of the bathtub, his stature that of a war lord. Gods, but he was beautiful, like no man could ever compare. Auburn hair clouded his eyes of golden rod, and his skin was paler than snow, smoother than alabaster. His face was entirely too handsome, like the man from Shakespeare's most famous sonnet. Had he a material face, this would be it.

"Did you hear me?" he asked, "you're going to wilt in there."

My voice suddenly felt ugly, insignificant when compared to his velveteen lilt. But, of course, I answered anyway, in the breathiest of whispers, "Who are you?"

He rolled his eyes, and I wondered how long he'd been watching me, exactly, "Your new bodyguard," he drawled, crossing his strong arms over his chest. I blew out a sharp breath, staring at him with new found loathing. Pretty or not, I didn't need to be babysat by a soldier.

"What were you doing anyways?" I bit out, "don't you know how to knock?"

He raised one eyebrow, looking down at my form through the water, "I do. I just chose not to."

I snorted, "Get out."

He could only smile, a crooked one at that, "Sure thing, Princess. I'll wait for you in the state room."

I gave him a scathing glare as he turned on his heel, leaving the big bathroom in two strides. Slowly, I rose, feeling the chill erupt over my body. Grabbing an oversized towel from on top of the hamper, I wrapped it around myself as I laid one hand on the doorway.

The god-man was sitting on one of the couches in my stateroom, one leg crossed over the other, his head resting on the spine. I watched him as I progressed into the bedroom, and not once did he turn to look at me.

I slipped a peasant's dress over my head, smoothing down the creases as it settled loosely over my body. At first, the maids had brought in exquisite dresses made of silk and cotton, but I'd asked—very nicely—if I could have only their simplest fashions.

He was still merely sitting as I walked back out into the main room, but his head turned this time, and his eyes roamed over my body. I felt naked beneath his intense gaze, those eyes piercing through my flesh.

"Sit," he told me, motioning to the loveseat across from him. I folded my hands across my lap as I settled myself into the seat, looking up at him through my lashes. He stared back momentarily, only looking, not speaking, before he began.

"Aro has assigned me to you," he told me, disgust evident in his tone, "my name is Edward…"

"Wait a second," I growled, cutting off his words, "Edward, as in Edward II of the family Volturi?"

He nodded once, shortly, "The same."

I recoiled, my back hitting the chair forcefully, "I don't _want_ you."

He shook his head, a nasty grimace twisting his perfect lips, "And you think I want to be your guard dog?" he gave a short, precise chuckle, "I think not."

"You've slaughtered countless Scots, and even more of my countrymen…" I was shaking my head before I even noticed, a true feeling of nausea overcoming me, "and Aro thinks I can be civil with you, spend every moment in your company?" Standing, I looked down at him, "tell him he can either find me someone else, or let me go."

Edward rose as well, towering over me, "I'm not your messenger."

"No, but right now, you're my bodyguard. Does that not mean you have to do as I say?" I crossed my arms over my chest, moving my gaze from his collarbone to his eyes that were burning with fury.

"No," he hissed.

I exhaled harshly, and Edward took one step back in a blindingly fast movement, catching me off guard. My head whipped around to look at him, and I caught the slow, swirling change of his eyes from amber to black—a flat black that reminded me of Kee Lake at midnight. I stepped back as well, but not so fast, and not so obviously, "Sorry," I snarled, "I didn't know I offended you so."

He was quick to answer, "You don't offend me."

I rolled my eyes, "Could've fooled _me_."

There was no emotion in his eyes as he took a wide arc to move around me. I watched him go, the slam of the door an awakening to my intuition. Edward had been an asshole at first. Then irritated. Then irate. _But why?_

* * *

My fingers traced the ancient indentations of the wall outside my room as I teetered on the threshold. Should I stay here, where I knew Aro wanted me? Or should I move about the castle freely, as if I were a daughter of this house? My toes pressed into the carpet—barefoot was the proffered state—and I took a tentative step out. I wanted to explore, to find things that could be of potential help to the rebellion—building plans, battle journals, ammunition, flaws in the castle's design. Anything that would show my father that I hadn't betrayed him by letting myself live here.

But hey, it's not as if I could just get out of here. And it's not as if I could have helped being caught after killing the Congressman. And it wasn't as if I asked to not be hung. That had been all on Q, on Aro. Therefore, completely out of my control.

"What are you doing?"

I visibly deflated, turning my head to look down the other end of the hallway.

Oh, him.

My arms came instinctively over my chest, and I settled into a comfortable glare. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, reciprocating my aggression. At least we shared something, even if it was a mutual loathing.

It was a short second—more than one, less than two—in which I could only appreciate his flawlessness. I didn't understand how this wolf in sheep's clothing could be so utterly attractive. Even Jacob, beautiful, bronze Jake, could not compare. I felt like no one I'd ever see could _ever_ compare, ever.

And oddly enough, I found my tension ease the tiniest bit, the absolute tiniest.

"So… where are the kitchens?"

* * *

_______And the sun will set f__or you_

____

_____The__ sun will set for you_

_____And the shadow of the day_

_____Will embrace the world in grey_

* * *

**_____review _**


	4. I See Your Heart Pinned To Your Sleeve

_Heath Ledger died. My life is now over forever. Who will be my Carlisle in shining armor? Life is just unfair. But really, Brokeback Man is selfish. He has a two-year old daughter and he decides to off himself? I feel for the girl, I must say. But then, Hollywood is the Devil's Playground. Bad things are bound to happen. _

_Lucky for me I live there, eh?_

* * *

_**I **__**S**__ee __**Y**__our __**H**__eart __**P**__inned __**T**__o __**Y**__our __**S**__leeve_

* * *

I followed him down the corridors, moving time with his steps. There was something hypnotic about his walk, as if he were always stepping over broken glass and eggshells. His sister in law, Alice, moved in much the same way—her shorter stature allowing her to be slightly more like a dancer than the ice skater Edward mimicked.

Edward bore no resemblance to his father, but they shared the same eyes. Even Alice, who had no blood relation to them, had the same golden rod irises lining her severely black pupils. And Aro's were red—but then, Aro was a mystery with or without strangely colored eyes. I couldn't shake the thoughts of their peculiarities, even when we reached the kitchens, and Edward ushered me inside.

He called out to a maid who was busily working, her slacks covered in flour. She moved towards us, wiping her hands on her apron, giving Edward a shaky, unsure smile.

"What can I do for you, Sir?" she asked—her voice meek. I smiled at her reassuringly, wishing that she wouldn't show her fear so openly. The last things the family Volturi needed was a boost on their ego, power over those who were not royalty, not nobility. And only a victim's terror could create that power.

Edward shrugged, looking down at me over his shoulder. I stepped forward, "Whatever you have left over from lunch is fine," I told her kindly, "and a glass of water, please."

She bowed her head, scurrying back across the expansive kitchen, and through another door. The silence Edward and I shared was stiff, my body uneasy in his presence. I could feel his chill as he stood behind me, his eyes boring into my back.

"You're much too humble," he finally grumbled, and the tension was broken with his words. I moved my head to the side as he took the step to stand shoulder to shoulder with me, looking at him scathingly.

"Humility is a good trait to have," I responded, trying to suppress the bubble of irritation that seemed to be coupled with speaking to him, "it keeps you modest, but I suppose you would know nothing of modesty."

He growled low in his throat, and my skin prickled at the sound, "I don't bow to those below me, no. You shouldn't either. Perhaps you'd still have your lands."

"I still walk on these lands, don't I? Besides, these planes belong to no one, they belong to themselves. _Perhaps_," I mocked, "you and your family should accept that. Perhaps then you'd be better off. This _world_ would be better off."

Edward angled his body towards me, crossing his arms over his chest, "_They belong to themselves_? Someone has to own them; you're just sour it isn't your father anymore."

I dropped my hands, letting them fall to my sides, "If respecting these lands and loving our people is what put us off the throne, then so be it. We rather be true leaders, a royal family that people worship and love, than _dictators_."

He huffed, annoyed already, "Such a Highlander."

I nodded, satisfied with his conclusion, "Yes."

The maid returned with a plateful of food before he could respond, successfully cutting off our argument. I took it from her, nodding my gratitude, and sat down at the counter. There was a Cornish hen sitting on the plate, decorated with parsley and onions. I poked it with my fork, taking a large bite.

Of course, it was delicious. Gruel would have been delicious right then.

Edward watched me, and the flicker of a smile passed over his lips, "Hungry, are you, Isabella?"

I wiped my mouth with a napkin, an unwilling blush spreading onto my cheeks, "They don't feed you very well in prison."

* * *

Alone again in the foreign bedroom, I watched the moonlight cascade through the window. Edward had taken up residence in the room across the hall, but I was glad to be finally rid of his presence. He wasn't looming, but he set me on edge, gave me the feeling that Aro had his eyes on me even when he was nowhere to be seen.

In ways he was a robot of the enemy, but I sensed something deeper in him, something individual. I knew he harbored his own thoughts, his own perspectives, and I craved to know what he truly thought of this ludicrous war. _Really_. His words today were recycled, not his own. At least, that's what I hoped.

We'd barely grazed the surface of conversation about war, Edward subtly avoiding it wherever possible. We had touched upon ownership, however, and I detested where his thoughts lay. The future had declined because of people like him—people who wanted to own everything, who believed man was the sole occupant of the universe. People who did not respect the land, the wildlife, nature in general. Those mindsets are what got us here, stuck back in Medieval Times when we should have been prospering with airships and cities on the moon.

I rolled over on the plush, queen sized bed, facing the ceiling.

Nothing made me quite as angry as The Descent (as the scholars and philosophers had so cleverly named it).

And nothing interested me quite as much as Edward did, if only because I saw potential in him. A person I could converse with who wouldn't automatically agree with me just because my words _sounded_ _good_. A person who would argue until he proved himself right—even if he was dead wrong. I admired that.

_But he's my enemy_. I sighed, sucking my lip between my teeth in a habitual show of anxiety. In any other world, it wouldn't matter if we were from two different places—but our families were in the midst of a war going on twenty years. He was Edward. I was Bella. But no one saw it like that except for me. To everyone else he was England and I was Ireland. Feudal, separated, warring countries that would never settle on a common ground.

There was an eternal battlefield between our two lands. The last men standing for either side would still fight—even if their countries had been demolished, even if they had no family to return to, no King to protect. Because it was a zealous hate, a dark aggression that drove this war, that fueled it.

A hate so strong that it seemed nothing could ease its pain.

* * *

The next morning dawned dark and grey, cold and desolate.

And Edward had me outside, my limbs doing a jig to the cold, watching him play polo with his family and friends. Nobles and neighbors. All people I wished not to see ever again for the rest of my short years.

Idiot.

I chose to shiver by myself, ignoring the crowd of onlookers who were, instead of watching the sport, watching _me_ with hawk-like intensity. I didn't like being thought of as an enigma, something to be gawked at when out in public. I wasn't some celebrity.

Alice, who wasn't playing today, locked eyes with me across the field. She looked warm in her balaclava and fur rimmed coat, a pair of gloves on her hands. A man stood beside her, his arm thrown lovingly around her shoulder. He was much taller than she—with blond hair and, obviously, a natural resistance to the cold. He wore a light, spring jacket over a pair of black pants and a shirt that was fit for summer. I wouldn't have been surprised if his feet were bare—though I couldn't see them from where I stood.

It wasn't a shock that he was beautiful—the whole entire family was gifted with the trait, related by blood or not. I rolled my eyes at the thought—surely, beneath the glamour, they were just as egotistical and narcissistic as their faces depicted.

Or perhaps I was just being judgmental.

I'd always been the plain Jane, only few finding me worth glancing at twice. Jacob had always told me I had a unique beauty—fresh and inviting. But other than him, I'd drawn no one else's attentions. My lips were too big, my eyes too far apart, my hair boring and straight. There was no glimmer in my gaze, no secrets behind my smile, no shimmering waves in my long locks.

I was just… average.

The game wrapped up quickly, the weather creating a sense of discomfort throughout the nobles. None of the family Volturi seemed to mind the whipping wind or the sharp snow that was falling onto their skin. In fact, they looked more at home, more surreal within the snowfall.

"Come along, Princess," Edward had crept up next to me as I watched some of the peasants usher the horses into the stable, a few of them remaining to find the balls buried in the fresh snow. I turned away to hide my smile as a woman dressed in her maid's garb threw a snowball at one of the men fishing for a ball. He laughed as he fell, face first, into the blanket of white, reciprocating her actions in the next second.

Their laughter and screams faded away as Edward placed his hand on the small of my back, gently guiding me to a side door of the castle. My skin tingled where he pressed, but I dismissed it as a longing for touch. A longing for affection. Everyone loves to be worshipped once in a while, and I'd been in the Congressman's house for two years before this imprisonment, alone.

Suddenly, and very unexpectedly, Edward spun me around, pressing me into an alcove that was shielded by a hanging carpet.

I opened my mouth to protest, but he slapped his hand over my mouth, pressing himself closer to me. There was no warmth between us, since Edward radiated no kind of body heat. _Strange_, I thought. He'd been out in the cold all day, his body should have been trying to warm itself up. As a matter of fact, he should be running a small fever right now…

But I couldn't focus on the temperature of his body—only that it was pressed intimately close to mine.

_Well I'm glad we got to know each other this way.__ But __your__ kind of crushing my bones into dust here, my friend. _

But Edward wasn't focusing on me; his eyes stared at the carpet, _through the carpet_. And it wasn't long before I heard the footsteps too. They halted on the stairs, it seemed, for they were hollow steps, and they sounded much different than they would on the cobblestone floor.

"It's ludicrous to keep her here, to invoke Charles' wrath further. I thought we were aiming for peace, Aro?"

I didn't recognize the first voice, but the second was easily distinguishable.

"Peace?" Aro chuckled without mirth, "there will be no peace with these barbarians, Carlisle. As soon as they find out what we are, what we _do_ on almost a daily basis… brother, do you really think they will open their minds to negotiations? To treaties? I think not."

Carlisle audibly sighed, and I could hear his clothes shifting around him, "These are good people. We should never have started this war, this _massacre_. Do you have no pity?"

There was a pause, "No. Only a need for power. I'm glad we came out of hiding, Carlisle," this time, Aro's laughter was full of dark humor, "the grass _is_ much greener on the other side."

One of them, who I assumed to be Aro, continued down the stairs, walking in the opposite direction from where Edward and I paused in hiding. Carlisle made no movements for several seconds, but then retreated back up the steps in a flurry. When my eyes flicked back to his son, I was met with golden irises, staring at me with the same, brutal intensity they always held.

His hand slid away from my mouth, falling back to his side, and he took a tiny step away from me, pressing himself into the other side of the alcove. His fingers toyed with the hanging carpet, and he looked out quickly, pulling me along when he deemed it safe to emerge.

He looked back at me, eyes cold and desolate, "You will repeat nothing."

And for once, I could only agree. No arguments, no protests. Just a nod.

He began walking quickly down the hall that led to our rooms, and I licked my lips, "Wait! What…?"

Edward angled his head towards me, pressing his finger to his lips, "Later."

* * *

It was later. Much, much later. The clouds obscured the moon, making my room dark and chilly.

And we were locked in the fiercest, non-verbal battle in the history of time. He made me feel like folding up into myself and never coming out. His eyes said so much, thought his lips never moved to voice his words.

"Carlisle doesn't want this?" I whispered into the darkness. We were very close, our knees touching as we both sat cross-legged on my bed. He had insisted on the proximity. 'These walls have ears', he'd told me quietly, his cold breath caressing the hairs on my neck.

I noticed his demeanor change—from cold and secretive, to, not exactly open, but willing, and shy. I'd never thought he had the capacity to be _shy_. Perhaps he did know a thing or two of humility.

"Carlisle doesn't approve of war," he whispered, and I could hardly catch his soft voice, "he wanted the lands… at first. But he sees now, what power does, what control turns you into. Marcus sides with him, but Caius is as power-thirsty as Aro. We're a divided family, some of my brothers and sisters apathetic about the issue, and some, like me, who want to end this conflict—to go back to the way things were before. Instead of demolishing what's left of this world, we'd like to improve it.

He looked off into the darkness in the corners of my room, "I can't tell you more Isabella," he murmured, looking back at me with a new, but ancient sadness in his eyes, "but I'd like to. Your views, I'm sure Carlisle would appreciate," suddenly, he smiled, "I'm sorry about sounding like a clone before. I wanted very much to agree with you, but I didn't know then, that they planned on keeping you here. I didn't want you running off with a good impression of me. I'm _meant_ to be the tyrant, remember. "

I bit my lip, grinning slightly, "I knew you weren't a robot."

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair, "No. Carlisle calls me the rebel to the rebellion. Though Aro would not like it very much… if he knew how I truly felt."

"So you won't act on your feelings? And neither will Carlisle?"

He shook his head, stoic again, "No. It would be fruitless. Aro would have rid himself of us instantly—and your countrymen would be worse off without Carlisle's sway over his brothers."

"But what about the killings?" I whispered desperately, "so many of my people have died. We won't win this war, Edward, we're a dying breed, us Highlanders."

He glanced down at his folded hands, "I'm just a Prince, Isabella, just a general. I have no say over the Congress, the Senate. And definitely no input when it comes to matters of this war. That lies solely with the brothers. And Carlisle is the youngest, the baby. His voice is considered nearly insignificant amidst all the rest. "

I looked away, sighing dejectedly, "It's Bella, by the way. Call me Bella."

I'd never seen a more handsome smile than the one that spread across Edwards' perfect lips, "Bella," my name rolled off his tongue, as if he were the only one ever meant to say it.

I frowned, "Aro said something else… about what you _are_? What you _do_? What did he mean?"

Edward jerked his head back to me sharply, his eyes, once again, piercing. For a long while, he just stared at me, his voice much softer than before when he finally spoke, "Understand, please, when I say that I cannot tell you that. If only for your own safety. _And_ mine."

"My safety?" I asked, perplexed, laughing a bit, "is it so bad?"

He looked up at me again through long lashes, "Yes."

* * *

_And if the cloud bursts, thunder in your ear_

_You__ shout and no one seems to hear_

_And if the band you're in starts playing different tunes_

_I'll see you on the dark side of the moon._

* * *

_Don't get used to the niceties between these two. It's a temporary thing. They do have their differences, after all. __Big ones. Review please. Spread the love.  
_


	5. Passive is Aggressive, Boy

**_Barrum Bum. _**

* * *

_Interlude I_

_- _

_"victorious warriors win first, and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first, and then seek to win."_

_Sun-Tzu _

_- _

_Passive is Aggressive, Boy_

* * *

Simon moved through the crowd of his kinsmen, his eyes open for only one man, one leader—Charlie had to be found. His hand shot out, catching on the sleeve of a farm girl carrying a basket of wheat. She dropped it, and the bales scattered all over the dirt road. Her eyes were cold when she looked up at him, her lips pinched into a thin line.

"Si_mon_," she whined, "what's the big deal?"

He ignored her, looking back out over the crowd, "Have you seen Charles?"

The girl rolled her eyes, motioning vaguely to a tent behind her. Simon loped off just as she bent to collect her wares, grumbling about rushing soldiers.

"Charlie!" Simon burst through the flaps of the tent, startling the men and woman inside. Billy rose, his one eye hard as stone as he surveyed the boy.

"Oi, Simon," Billy barked in his rough voice, "can't just barge in on a Council like that, boy! You nearly gave me a stroke…"

Simon rolled his eyes, advancing towards the middle-aged brunette in the center of the gathering. His wise eyes locked with his—and he knew, _he knew_ something had gone terribly wrong.

"It's Bella," Simon murmured, "Bella, she…"

Charlie rose, clutching his pistol as it sat, secured in his holster, "Spit it out, Simon."

"She's been found out… after she murdered the Congressman."

"Murdered the Congressman?" Charlie growled, "she wouldn't hurt a fly!"

"Well, she killed a rather large one—some of his other servants say he got too comfortable with her, too friendly. You _did_ say she should try any means possible to stop his slave trade."

"I didn't mean murder…" Charlie slumped back into his chair, placing is hand on his forehead, "where is she?" he whispered.

"She was first sentenced to hang. And the noose was 'round her neck before Aro decided he didn't want her dead, but questioned. They found out, somehow, that she was your daughter—and now she's living amongst the lions, with the family Volturi."

"She's living with Aro?" Charlie murmured, his worst fear confirmed, "but she's well, is she not? He wouldn't treat her badly, not as long as I stay away."

"She fares rather well, Milord," the young squire paused, wringing his hands, "You know… we _do_ have operatives inside the castle. We could attempt an extraction…?"

"No," Charlie shook his head, "no, we wouldn't make it past the gates. Bella is strong," he sighed, gaze straying to Jacob in the corner, "she knows she's stuck. For now."

Jacob finally spoke, kicking his chair as he rose, "You won't go after her?"

Charlie gave him a long, cold look, "No."

_It's not that I don't wish to save my own daughter, Jake, I swear it. _But he couldn't say that to the kid, couldn't tell him that he wanted very much to get on his horse now, ride through the night and day, and every night that followed until he reached Bella. But he had promised her, sworn to her that he wouldn't go after her if she was caught.

And he would keep _this_ promise, at least.

_What a time to be loyal. _

* * *

_Destroy this City of Delusion_

_Break these walls down_

_I will avenge_

_Justify my reasons_

_With__ your blame_

* * *


	6. Words Only Get You So Far

_**This will come up subtly in this chapter, so listen here; Edward is playing at being twenty five. He's really only twenty. Bella is twenty one. **_

_**Theme Song; **____The Gift __**Angels & Airwaves.**_

* * *

__

___**W**__ords __**O**__nly __**G**__et __**Y**__ou __**S**__o __**F**__ar_

___ "a woman either loves or hates; she knows no medium."_

___anonymous _

* * *

___**We talked into the early morning**_, Edward engrossed in my words, and I in his. He had spectacular ideals—to reinstate democracy, to end another era of monarchs, to, instead of mimic the warped principles of rulers like Stalin and Hitler, let the people be individual entities who were free to think, and act, and write, and own whatever pleased them.

It wasn't that he was opposed to monarchies—they did hold an ancient sense of history, after all—but he was against the kind of Kings that Aro and Caius and some of his cousins embodied.

I told him that a democracy would be a revolution for both of our countries, and for the Scots as well. If it were ever to happen. I doubted my people would be opposed to it, that any nation would be opposed to it. It would only be a very drastic change. But a very necessary one. Everyone wished for the return of technology, of science, of exploration. Of freedom.

"You should sleep," he murmured as we fell into a comfortable silence, "you're exhausted."

I let my body fall back onto the bed, my head hitting the blissful pillow. A little sigh escaped my lips, followed by a yawn. Edward chuckled.

"And you?" I asked groggily, "You don't look tired at all."

I felt him shrug, though my eyes were too hooded to see, "Being a soldier, you learn not to sleep too much. I'm accustomed to it, now."

I stretched my arms over my head, and I could feel Edward stir again, rising from the bed, "Surely you can feel safe in your own home."

There was a slight pause, before Edward spoke quietly, his voice making it hard to remain awake, "This was never really my home."

I hummed a response, forcing my eyes to open, giving him a long look as he turned to go, "We're still enemies, you know," I said into the darkness, watching his back stiffen only just, "this cannot change the years of… killing you've unleashed on my people. Intelligent or no, I can't stifle my resentment."

His face turned toward me, and he nodded, "You'll find a way to forgive me, someday. Perhaps I'll find a way to forgive myself as well."

I let my head fall once again, "Maybe. Someday."

_If I happen to be feeling delirious and disloyal, then definitely._

* * *

The weeks began fading into months, and the calendar told me that it would be March in a few days time. Edward had been by my side every day, and we talked for hours, the only real comfort in this makeshift prison. We got along well, though we argued more than an old married couple—usually about his secrets.

One morning, however, Edward was suspiciously absent—and a boyish manservant took his place as my watcher, eyes neither red nor golden. He told me Edward would be back by nightfall, that he was on an errand for his father. I smiled at the kid and he blushed, looking down as I thanked him.

"No need to be bashful," I snickered when his blush deepened, "what's your name, boy?"

"Torrin," he told me, finally looking up, blue eyes ablaze, "from Greece, my lady."

"And how old are you?"

"Seventeen, Miss."

I looked down the hallway, and out the open window that gave a spectacular view of the lakeshore, "Will you take a walk with me, Torrin?"

The boy looked nervous, his eyes flicking here and there, "Come on," I took his arm, leading him towards the window, "I want to go to the beach," I said quietly, "can you show me how to get there?"

He sucked his lip between his teeth, reminding myself very much of… myself. I laughed and he seemed to loosen up, the blush spreading once more across his cheeks, "There's a way to the shore through the servants quarters near the kitchens… there won't be any guards there."

I was already leading him towards the kitchens, pulling him by his hand. He followed me, his nervous steps louder than my sure footfalls. I smiled back at him once or twice as we weaved through the goings on of the kitchen, dodging flying chicken heads and the insides of turkeys, pigs hooves and ears that they saved for the dogs. I grimaced as my bare foot squished something's eyeball, and Torrin nearly bowled over from laughter. I wiped my foot on the threshold of the door leading to the outside, scowling at him.

"Oh, that's hilarious, is it?"

He chuckled a bit more before quieting down, "Your face!"

I gave him a grin to let him know I was not insulted, and I nearly skipped toward the beach. The wind howled, but the snow had melted from the unexpected sun, so my feet touched the cold sand, embracing the feel. My skin was thick—living in the Irish countryside your entire life could do that to a person's flesh. To survive the winters you had to embrace them. Build up an immunity to ice and chill.

"I must admit," I said quietly as Torrin came to stand beside me, admiring the ocean, "this is a lovely country."

"Not lovelier than Greece!" he boasted, a true smile making his features shine, "…you would see my island someday, Lady. It is a sight far more beautiful than this dreary place. The culture there is rich, the oceans are blue and bright…" he trailed off, casting his gaze to his feet. I placed a hand on his shoulder, rubbing circles into the bone with my thumb.

"You'll go back there, soon, I think," I tilted his chin up towards my face, "Trust me, alright?"

He nodded, "Anything for the Rebel Queen."

I rolled my eyes, "Princess, actually. I'd do the throne a dishonor."

"No," Torrin countered, "you'd be a far better Queen than any I've ever heard of."

I laughed, plopping down into the sand, "But you hardly know me!"

Torrin didn't answer, but sat down beside me, digging his toes into the sand.

"Thank you for taking me out here," I whispered hours later as the sun began to fall for the night, inviting the moon to take its place, "I missed the outdoors."

He grinned distractedly, eyes fixated on the sun. I waved my hand before his face, breaking his trance.

"Oh!" he looked over at me sharply, then back to the sun, "Lady, you'll excuse me, I'll return in a moment!"

He rose from his spot, tripping over himself the whole way up to the castle. I watched him slip through the little door that led to the servant's quarters—and watched it shut behind him.

It was the perfect time.

The absolute ideal time to run, run and not think on Edward, or Alice, or the entire family Volturi until I was safe in my father's arms.

And yet, I couldn't go.

Torrin would surely be punished, and I couldn't handle another corpse on my conscience. Oh, but how the stretch of beach called to me. It was long and inviting, begging me to take the steps that would lead to somewhere safe, somewhere that resembled home. I'd swim across the ocean, and walk across all the hills and mountains separating me from my little village if I had to. I missed it almost to the point where it pained me to think of it. And Charlie. And Jacob. These months without them were slowly gnawing at my heart.

I let my mind wander for a moment, imagining their faces if I were to suddenly appear, walking up the little path to our village. Charlie would smile, his worry lines would be evident on his wise, old face. Jacob would make some excited noise, run to embrace me.

Unconsciously, I'd risen from my place on the beach and wandered to where sea met sand. The frozen water licked at my feet, my ankles, my shins, wetting the hem of my dress. I felt the cold, but did not feel it. My body was somehow numb with homesickness, heavy with longing. I waded slightly deeper into the water, imagining Ireland just out of reach of my fingertips. If I could only reach a little further….

"Isabella!"

Torrin's voice dragged me back to sanity, his worried face alerting me to how deep I had trudged into the water. It was swaying back and forth beneath my breasts—and suddenly, everything crashed down on me. The cold, the depth. Oh, Gods, the _deep_.

Panic seized me, and I couldn't move. I'd always been afraid, too scared to swim out to the rocks off the coast with Jacob for fear of the deep water. 'It's because you can't see what's beneath you,' I'd explain to him every time he asked, 'that's what scares me'.

Now, with my imagination already running away with me, I was more scared than ever before. My toes weren't touching the sand anymore, and I was drifting out to sea. My throat closed up, and I only hoped Torrin would notice the fear on my face. I only hoped he was a fair swimmer.

Something cold—far colder than the water—gripped my waist, and I screamed, writhing, kicking, tears falling down my face as I struggled against the nameless, faceless thing.

And then I was on the shore, and Edward was looking down at me, his face screwed up with consternation.

"What were you thinking?" he breathed, angry, concerned. And still, he was beautiful—even wet, even disheveled. Even furious.

"I wasn't," I answered groggily, and he seemed to understand. He turned his dark eyes to Torrin, growling low in his throat.

"I asked you to watch her," he hissed, "was that so difficult?"

"No, no," I cut of Torrin's reply, sitting up to face Edward, "he left for a minute, and my thoughts ran away with me. Don't take my delusions out on him."

I stared at Edward, and his eyes cleared, lightening to their regular topaz. Strange, my mind reminded me, so strange. He sighed again, moving one hand to my back as I shivered from the cold. My head felt heavy, my forehead pounding from the wet and the cold. Looking up at him as he carried me back toward the castle, I could see he was worried. His jaw was tense, the muscles of his arms clenching and unclenching.

"A hot bath is what you need," he muttered, more to himself than me, "you'll be fine after a hot bath."

My neck collapsed under the weight of my head, placing it onto Edward's stone chest.

"Thank you," I whispered, "for saving me."

He didn't say a word.

* * *

A hot bath did do me some good, warmed my quaking bones at least, but I was still bed ridden on orders of the nurse who'd come to see me hours ago. I knew I should be asleep, trying to recuperate, but I couldn't shake the image of Edward's eyes, the chill of his touch, the feel of his hard chest. And it wasn't because all of these things attracted me to him, but because they were simply… not of this world.

Edward, Aro, Carlisle, Alice; the entire royal family were, now that I had taken the time to observe them, perceptibly bizarre. Inhuman, even.

_But if they're not human Bella_, my reason returned, breaking through the fog of imagination, _then what are they?_

I had no answer to that. Though, the wilder side of my mind thought superheroes, science experiments gone wrong, natural freaks of nature. I could think of a lot of ludicrous ideas given the time.

I turned over as the door to the bedroom opened, the soft click of the handles alerting me to Edward's presence. He'd been a looming shadow in the corner of the room as the nurse had checked me over, deeming me fine but weak and panicked. I rolled my eyes at her. I mean, I did nearly drown. Of course I was panicked, and even that was an understatement.

Edward stepped lithely into the room, giving me a small, charming smile as he shut the door behind him.

"You really have a problem with knocking, eh?" I sniped, sour at being confined between the four posts of my bed.

He raised his eyes to the sky, flashing them back down to me in moments. I stared at him stonily, unwilling to relent to the smile threatening to creep upon my lips. I felt like I wanted to smile every time I saw him now. Which was, you know, annoying.

"I don't like you when you're sick," he announced matter-of-factly, taking his place at the edge of my bed, "you're much more difficult than usual. More complex."

"Oh!" I shouted indignantly, my hands balling into fists over the blanket, "_I'm_ difficult? _I'm _complex? '_I can't _tell_ you Bella_,' '_What were you _thinking_ Bella?_' '_Yes, Bella, it is _that bad.' You're harder to crack than a locked box!"

He snickered then, and I blew the fringe from my forehead, my chest deflating, my back sinking once more into the pillows, "Yes, just _laugh_ at silly little Bella," my voice slipped into a deadly tone, "You won't be laughing when I'm well and throw you off my balcony."

"Bella," Edward sighed, still smiling, "I'm quite open, actually. There are just certain aspects of my life that I cannot disclose to you," he waved his hand in the air in a dismissive manner, "besides, I don't reveal my secrets to enemies."

"Enemies," I whispered, becoming serious. The mood of our playful banter left me, and I looked up at him through my lashes, "I wish we weren't, you know. I see good in you."

"Only because I saved your life, Bella. But all the things I've done... There is hardly good in me."

"Edward…" I pleaded, my voice breaking from the pain in my throat, "You're right, I don't know you as well as you know yourself, but I know that you have a good heart, no matter how black you've painted it for Aro."

He looked up at me then, something screaming at me through his golden irises. But it was as if the words were in code, in a different language, because I couldn't understand what he was trying to silently communicate. And then, the moment was broken, and he looked down at the duvet.

His hand, pale as the moonlight, moved slowly across the bedspread, coming to rest on my knee. My breath halted, and I could only focus on his digits wrapping around my leg, "And how black is _your_ heart?" he asked quietly, staring into me, "what nameless things have you done for the rebellion, Bella, that might have tainted you?"

I shook my head, "I don't know if my sins will compare to yours, Edward. I don't have many."

"You killed the congressman," he said, his voice taking on a chilling quality, his body moving somehow closer to mine. I held my reserve, though I was trembling inside—the intensity of his stare unnerving me. My chin tilted upwards, and I kept my eyes on his—I wouldn't let him see my tension, "and in your heart… you want revenge for your mother."

"Of course," I breathed.

"In the eyes of many, those are sins, considered the circumstances or no."

"And you?" I asked, watching his hand slide up my thigh over the blankets, loving the feel of his fingers as they pressed delicately into my skin. He was so close now that I could see the sway of his hair as he shook his head, silently telling me he wouldn't answer. His eyes confirmed his actions. Did he have so many?

I exhaled, my breath fanning across his face, and he closed his eyes, his glorious lips parting to taste my essence. And in that moment, that one second when he seemed to want my very self, I wanted him just as badly. I wanted to devour him, to taste him. Was it so wrong to want to see the colors of his soul? To see his true intentions, his power, his beauty revealed?

_"Edward."_

"Forgive me," he murmured, crushing his mouth to mine, engulfing me in ecstasy.

* * *

___I'll stop the storm if it rains_

___I'll light a path far from here_

___I'll make your fear melt away_

___And the world we know disappear._

___Make the world we know disappear._

* * *


	7. The Horsemen Are Knocking

_My ridiculously long, but unquestionably necessary author's note_:

1: I'm thinking about changing this story to M. But it will probably only be one chapter. I dunno.

2: I don't mean to make Bella sound vain in this chapter. She is not. For once, she feels confident. In my opinion, confidence is beautiful. And Bella begins to realize that as well.

3: I have strong opinions on politics. If you don't share my views—either don't read this story, or read it with an open mind. I have no biases, no judgments to pass on people who walk on the other side of the river, metaphorically speaking. Think of the views as those of the character, not mine, if it helps you to deal. Disagree all you want, tell me you don't think my opinions are right, but, please, don't just blatantly bash my ideals. That's not what this is for.

4: I have had a few reviews commenting about this story's similarity to Cygnus, another story on this site. I've read it and realize that, while the concepts are the same, I don't feel they share much besides the fact that they're set in a future that has deteriorated. I never intended for my story to mirror that one (sorry, the author's name escapes me). So, basically, I'm just wondering if you guys think I should take this story off of here. Because Cygnus was here first. And because I want to respect the authors' claim on the plotline.

So let me know.

* * *

_**T**__he __**H**__orsemen __**A**__re __**K**__nocking_

_-_

_"The intention of never deceiving often exposes us to deception."_

_François de la __Rochefoucauld_

* * *

**I froze for less than half a second before letting myself relax into the kiss,** my lips caressing his with a tenderness I was usually incapable of. His hand continued its burning torture as it crept further up my leg, coming to rest on my hip, his body gently urging mine lower. I settled back onto the pillows, Edward's lips still locked on mine, _moving with mine_ as if they were meant to do so. My hands, unable to control themselves, crawled up his shapely back, into his hair, gently tugging on the strands of auburn. I could feel his chill through the blankets, somehow warming me, sparking the familiar heat in my belly.

I was going too fast.

But, Gods, it felt more right than right itself, and I physically could not force my hands from him.

Edward was feeling adventurous today, it seemed, as his hand did not stop on my hip. He used the tips of his pianist's fingers now, drawing designs on my stomach, tracing the valley between my breasts, memorizing the small, half moons they created over the neckline of my peasant's dress. I pulled away from the cold hold of his lips, staring up at him—my eyes betraying my heart in indecision.

"Bella," he breathed, his face hovering so close to mine, "I'm sorry."

I shook my head slightly, attempting a smile, "I'm not complaining."

He sighed, his intoxicating breath filling my lungs with bliss, "Good." I could still feel his fingers, running smoothly along the curves of my chest. He looked down at his actions, placing his head on my collarbone, leaving me to press my lips to his sweet smelling hair.

"Freesia," he whispered, "you smell like wildflowers."

I chuckled tiredly, feeling the fatigue creep up on me slowly, "You smell like _heaven_."

"Heaven," he repeated, and, sensing the end of our conversation, I said no more. The hair between my fingers was so soft, his breathing equally as gentle as it caressed my ivory flesh.

Falling asleep in the Congressman's house had always been difficult—there was no telling who or what would plague me in my sleep. And with all the eyes straying my way, I could never force my own to stay shut.

But here, now, in this foreign house of the enemy, I was able to drift in dreams as I never had before, Edward's arms acting as my invisible bind to safer harbors.

* * *

Pleasure is a fickle thing. It comes and goes, weaving in and out of lives as it pleases, cursing and blessing where it sees fit. It has the ability to ruin and to hearten, to bring a smile to someone's face at the same moment it delivers a frown. It could fill or break hearts.

You never knew how long it could last.

Forever or for a moment.

* * *

He was kissing me again, and I hadn't even woken up. I squirmed, shying away from the feeling of his nuzzling caresses on my neck, allowing a short giggle to escape me. I felt giddy with the sensation of his affection, dizzy with the trouble it presented.

But I didn't want to think about the danger now.

My eyes opened of their own accord, locking with Edward's immediately. His smile was large, mimicking the sun's rays in its brilliance, "Hey, sleepyhead," he murmured.

I stretched my arms over my head, curling my toes, "You seem unusually happy," I noted.

He smiled, looking ashamed, "I had a good night."

"Oh?" I cocked my head to the side, giving him the once over, "it doesn't look like you went anywhere."

Grinning secretively, he shook his head, "I didn't. You provided all the amusement I could ever need."

I could feel my face go pale, and a slightly hesitant chuckle slipped from my lips, "What did I say?"

My mother had endlessly teased me about my sleep talking, laughing like a little school girl when I would deny it. She would poke my cheeks, making fun of my blush. Edward had drawn attention back to the odd habit, and it reminded me greatly of Renee.

He chuckled, pulling away from me to sit on the edge of my bed, "Nothing, really," and then his face was somber, his smile falling into one thousand pieces, "though there was a name you kept repeating… Jacob?"

I shrugged, coming into a sitting position against the pillows, "A friend from home."

He nodded, touching his feet to the floor as he stood.

"Leaving?" I asked, moving to pull the blanket from my body.

He smiled shyly, "I have things I need to attend to. And you have a party to get ready for."

I cocked my brows, "A party?"

"Yes. My brother returns tonight," he took on an odd expression, "Emmett will love you."

"Emmett," I rolled the name around on my tongue, my voice taking on a bitter quality, "the warlord."

His lips pinched and he looked at me darkly from beneath his lashes, "The overgrown fool," he contradicted, "Emmett is just a joker in disguise. But, soldier or no, he returns tonight from France and Aro wishes to celebrate his arrival."

I set my head back on my pillows, "And I'm supposed to be there, right? Whether I want to or not?"

Edward laughed, "I'm afraid so."

He left not long after, and not without another kiss to my forehead.

All these kisses, and I knew nothing of what they meant. Obviously he was attracted to me, but in what way? Beauty or brains? I was nothing special, nothing compared to the women I'd seen around the celestial castle so far—all of them hauntingly, eerily gorgeous. Surely he couldn't find my looks all that appealing.

It had to be my mind. I agreed with him on many things, did he think me some quiet, biddable woman he could order around? Or did he think me to be someone who could rival him intellectually?

Confusion was a light term for what I was feeling, the burning sensation of Edward's lips not helping the muddled state of my head. There were so many things to consider—the danger, the undeniable attraction, the fact that _I was supposed to hate him_, as he should have hated me in return. It was Romeo and Juliet. Pocahontas and John Smith. It was wrong.

* * *

They say the mirror never lies. But the reflection it portrayed, that girl… it couldn't have been me. It was nearing to dusk, and red and yellow shadows were dancing along the walls, casting onto my face a rainbow. For once I felt comfortable in my own skin.

My hair was curling softly, the long locks falling down beneath my shoulder blades. There was blush on my cheeks, highlighting the natural pools of blood that settled there, illuminating the littering of sparkles on my lids. The maid, Dory, had slid me into a blue gown—the bodice, perhaps, a bit too tight. But since she, herself, had made it, I refused to complain.

It was a vain revelation—but I couldn't glance away from the looking glass.

And then he was there, gorgeous in a midnight suit, watching me. Gently, his hands settled on my shoulders, our eyes locking in the mirror.

"You look lovely."

Ashamed, I couldn't disagree.

* * *

Q's were the first pair of eyes I found in the crowded room, and they taunted me, sparkling with troublesome mischief. He made the hairs on my neck stand on end, and I looked away from him, up at Edward's strong jaw.

Aro glided to the center of the room, his long, sweeping robes billowing out behind him. The old king embodied a sense of regal royalty, and it was hard not to admire the sense of command and respect he radiated. I was, most likely, the only one in the room who was not stricken with revere for him.

"Ah, beautiful Isabella," his arms swept inwards like a bow, coming to rest on my upper arms, "how lovely of you to join us."

I cracked a smile, "As if I had very much of a choice."

We were in the middle of an ocean lined with nobles—the royal family standing at the head of the throng. Aro's presence had parted the Red Sea, and the crowd had split to either side of the room, creating a long row of empty floor where the king, Edward and I now stood, exchanging formalities.

Aro's smile hardly withered at my words, "I see all these months in my home have not softened you." It was only at his _shocking_ epiphany that his red eyes darkened, flicking to Edward in disappointment. The young prince beside me looked down and away, avoiding his uncle's eyes.

"But," Aro regained his composure, "perhaps tonight will be to your liking."

I hid my grimace, choosing instead to simply shake my head, "Is your head so hard, _King_ Aro? I will not betray my country—we will never tread on peaceful ground, you and I." _Especially not after what I overheard so many nights __agoEspecially__ not after I've seen your true intentions._

But even as I said the words, I felt like the world's biggest hypocrite. Had I not been sharing secret kisses and caresses with Edward just the night before? Had I not been trading words with him as if we were old friends? Old _lovers_? And I knew Edward felt it too, for my words not only made me bristle, but him as well.

Guiding me away from Aro, Edward immediately led us into dance. His arms were stiff as they held me, his jaw clenching and unclenching. Was this a façade? A mask that he would put on in public so that no one knew how close, exactly we'd become? Or maybe he was just really mad at me.

"Q would like to dance with you," he growled as the orchestra wrapped up the first song, "against my better judgment, I'll let him. I have something that needs my immediate attention."

"How do you know--," but my question was cut off mid stride, as I was twirled like a rag doll into the embrace of an infinitely colder embrace. Q. Quinn. What_ever_ his name was, held me close, moving us across the dance floor as easily as if he were walking on water. Edward had disappeared, his body moving too fast for my eyes to catch up.

"You look even lovelier all cleaned up, Isabella," I looked up, my face so close to Quinn's that I retracted my head a bit, uncomfortable with our proximity. Unlike Edward, Q was a true monster, a true subordinate of the trespassers.

"Thank you," I bit out, my head spinning as Q dipped me slightly, his eyes straying to the low neckline of my dress. I scoffed, rolling my eyes.

"Up here, _darling_."

Q returned his eyes to my face, his slimy hands tracing my spine, "Take a walk with me."

"I rather be here," I said icily, "where I can die a horrible death of boredom."

Ignoring me, Quinn pulled me by the hand and I barely put up a struggle, actually glad to be out of the stuffy ballroom where the people around me wore immaculate smiles hiding hideous frowns. I wanted to be rid of the murmurs and the glances and the sneers that were being shot my way—all of them containing this belief and that one. They saw me as I saw them, once upon a time, as just nameless faces of the enemy I was brought up to loathe.

Quinn's hand was bitter cold as he tore through the garden, brining me to the loveliest part. The rose bushes were just beginning to bud, but the beauty that it harbored, the muted atmosphere of allure was what I appreciated most. Tawdrily enough, roses were my favorite.

I wasn't paying attention to him, or to myself, and I ran into Quinn's cold chest—reminding myself of the night I murdered the Congressman. His eyes were full of something familiar, something I had seen in Edward's eyes not the night before. Something that had nothing to do with a desire of the flesh, but something much, much deeper.

"Maybe you should take me back," I whispered, and Q's red irises darkened considerably into a burnt claret. He took a step toward me, causing my chest to firmly brush his. I shivered at the freezing contact, but before I could distance myself, his frigid fingers had wrapped around my upper arms, anchoring me into place.

My throat constricted, and Q bent his head, moving his nose to brush along my cheek.

"You must know by now, little swan," he crooned, "months in this place, you _must_ know what you've walked into."

I furrowed my brow, too concerned with his words to notice the burning cold feel of his hands on my flesh, "What I've walked into?"

_Of course_. Q, with his large ego and disregard for secrets, would certainly tell me everything that Edward would not.

"Certainly you've realized that the family Volturi is unlike the family Swan in more ways than one, Isabella dear," he hummed, his voice reverberating off of my neck, "surely you've realized that they—we—are hardly human at all."

My breath caught, and my head spun so violently I feared I would faint, "Not… h-human?"

He laughed, loud and deep, the sound deafening to my ears, "Isabella, or should I say Bella?" he grinned at me secretively, "do you not feel the deathly cold of my skin? Do you not see the bloodied tint to my eyes? Bella, we are exactly what you've described us as so many times before."

"Monsters," I breathed, feeling myself go weak in the knees from the truth. Never had that word held such a meaning so exact.

"Monsters," he answered, chuckling, "…vampires."

_and__ honestly the weight of my decisions_

_were__ impossible to hold _

_but__ they were never yours_

_they__ were never yours_


	8. Our Divinity Knows No Bounds

_**This chapter came all at one time. **__**Right Now.**____**Tonight.**__** I hope you enjoy reading as much as I did, writing.**_

* * *

___**O**ur __**D**__ivinity __**K**__nows __**N**__o __**B**__ounds_

___- _

___"There is __no chance, no destiny, __no__ fate that__ can circumvent or hinder or control the firm resolve of a determined soul."_

___Ella Wheeler Wilcox_

* * *

**I slumped against the demon**, feeling more stupid than trite or insignificant. I _knew_. I _had_ to have known. How could one be so horrifically ignorant to something so painfully obvious? My breaths came slowly as I swallowed the thick, hard truth—and it wouldn't settle in my belly. I felt betrayed.

Heartbroken.

Slighted.

Because as much as I thought Edward to be like me, as much as I wished for him to understand, as much as I thought he was beginning to—there was an entire _world_ between us. The deepest chasm anyone would ever have to cross was laid out between he and I—between our two, opposite _races_.

And everything suddenly made so much sense. Why it was so disgustingly easy for the English to win a battle, to conquer an opponent such as Ireland if they so pleased. It was easy to see now why Edward was so cold, why his lips felt as if ice had caressed them. Why he seemed so ashamed of this secret. Why Aro's eyes were red. Why the English people so revered their masters. Why the family Volturi seemed to be ageless. Why they seemed to be superior to Father Time himself.

My stomach churned, and I emptied it into the nearest rosebush.

"Always the charmer, Bella."

I gave a little, bitter moan, code for _shut the hell up you hideous, bloodthirsty mongrel_.

The frigid chill of hate budded once again within me, but my heart ached an even stronger wound.

"What's happened?"

And somehow,_ his_ voice made the hairs of my neck stand on end, my body and heart reacting to him in a much more affectionate way than my mind was screaming. Logic told me to loathe him, to distance myself, and scolded me for getting so close in the first place. But my soul, the warm, tender place in me that held some sort of care for the undead prince—it told me not to care about race or enemy lines, lies or secrets. It cared only for the man that was Edward, disregarding anything that was not in his soul.

"Well," Q began, and I could almost envision his finger tapping his chin in mock thought.

"You idiot," Edward scolded quietly, harshly… regretfully. Had Q answered him? My face was still cradled in my hands, and I could smell the scent of my sick. My head was foggy, light with the overload of information. I could not bring myself to look at Edward.

"Bella," and when he crouched down beside me, his caring, gentle hands moving to caress my back, I shied away from their welcome touch. It seemed my head would always win with me. Body and heart aside, my mind was logic, and logic was always right.

"Don't you touch me," I whispered, feeling the hot, burning sensation of tears sting behind my eyelids. I rose slowly, finally looking at the enigma I had wanted for so many months to unravel. I suddenly wished I had never tried. He stared at me, broken frown intact, eyes shadowed still by midnight silhouettes.

"Bella," he breathed, pleading, "let me explain. _Please_."

I shook my head, recoiling as he reached out again. Q watched with a sick sense of amusement, the smugness painted perfectly on his smile.

"Seems you've mixed business with pleasure, _Edward_."

Edward growled, eyes on me as I backed away, "_Quiet_." I turned from the both of them, tired of their masks. The nobles watched me as I passed them, special attention on my tears. Aro did not speak, nor nod, nor give witty remark as I passed him. He merely looked past me, towards the garden. I felt hollow.

The walk back to my room was quiet, lonely, cold, securing the hole in my chest a permanent position.

But I was not so alone once I shut the door.

"So now you know."

Alice did not startle me as she emerged from the darkness, though I admit I had expected it to be her brother standing there, not her.

"I do," I murmured, still hurt by the blow of honesty, "though I always could feel something was amiss with you."

"Edward cares for you, you know," the way she said her brother's name sounded more like _Edvard_, and my lip quirked at the little accent she carried. But it was hard to smile around her, knowing what she was, that she could turn on me at any moment.

"That I do _not_ know," I said forcefully, undoing the strings of my garment as I moved toward the door that led to my bedroom.

"I know you care for him too!" she half-yells, her voice the rawest of pleas, stopping me dead in my tracks, hand on the door knob, "please do not turn him away, Bella, you've no idea how you've changed his world."

I licked my lips, "You should go."

She shakes her head severely, moving towards me. I give her a cold stare and she stops, dropping her hand, "If you've cared for him at all, you will listen to what he has to say. Aro will be coming by in the morning. Now that you know…" she trails off, regaining her words in the next few moments, "now that you know, things will change. Perhaps drastically."

And I know there is no reason for her to use words of chance. The way her eyes avoid mine tells me she knows very well that things will transform to the extreme.

"Goodbye, Alice."

"Wait, Bella…" her face creases, and she's angry now, a subtle anger, but anger still.

"Can you not accept Edward because he is different? Would that not make you a hypocrite, Bella?"

"I cannot accept Edward because he lied to me, because he betrayed my trust," did I care that he was a vampire? I wasn't sure, not yet, though the concept frightened me somewhat, "I cannot _accept_ him, any of you, because you've slaughtered my people mercilessly all these years, knowing we stood no chance against you. Not because we did not have the weapons, not because we did not have the men, but because we were an inferior race! You and your people are cruel, Alice, unforgiving and conniving. We were never on equal playing fields, and my father knew nothing of the circumstances."

She is silenced, and I am exhausted, not so secure in my words as I once was.

* * *

The dawn is up for hours before there is a knock on my door. I still wear the dress I wore to the ball, my waves are slightly flatter than they were at their prime, and my lips and cheeks have lost their vivacious rouge. 

"Come in," I whisper, knowing whoever it is—though I have a good idea—will hear me.

It is not Edward, as I expect, but rather, Aro, his startling red eyes a jolt of reality in the morning.

"Good morning, Isabella," he says not unkindly, "how have you slept?"

"My dreams seemed to be plagued with vulgar monsters of myth," I intoned, staring straight at him with unflinching consistency. He chuckles, smiling broadly and I wonder if nothing fazes him. Gently, he reached out, taking my hair between his fingers. I am like a statue, sitting like stone beneath his hands.

"We are not such horrible beasts, Isabella," he muttered, "certainly Edward has shown you that."

"And how would you have me believe Edward's…"_ affection, kisses, whispers,_ "… kindness was not all a lie, a façade to make me see a better side of you?"

"Believe what you wish, but I have never had full control of Edward. He is a free spirit," and I can tell by the way his face darkens that he is telling me the truth, "Edward has always done what he wishes, reveals what he sees fit to reveal. All of his sentiments," and he looks at me now, long and hard, "intimate or no, have been his own."

"This changes nothing, Aro, it only brings about more reasons for me to think you a tyrant, a monster," I sigh deeply, letting my eyes roam away from his haunting face, "Please," I murmur, "I just want go home."

"Impossible," he growls, "why would I let my enemy's daughter walk freely from my castle? Either Charlie will yield to me, or you will face a worse fate than your country."

"_What could be worse?_" and I'm crying now, screaming at this devil of a king, my tears free, unchained, "my heart is heavy because of your blasted nephew, my soul aches for my family, my body is imprisoned in this gods forsaken place, " my hands flail, motioning uselessly to the four walls that entrap me, "and all I have to look forward to is the fact that maybe, just _perhaps _there is some pity in you, and you will not kill every last Irishman that walks this earth. For I know you have the means to do so… and the will to accompany it."

I see no pity though, as Aro looks down at me, disgusted by my weakness almost as much as I am, "I show no mercy."

Scoffing, I reply, "Your motto. Your soldier's mantra as they march across the bloodied battlefield."

"Correct," he hisses, and I try to stare up at him through blurry, watered vision, "I tried to show you kindness, Isabella, tried to reason with your father's iron will through you. But now, it seems, as though he will not come for you," and the wicked smile once again appears, "unless, of course, he thinks you are no more."

I feel hopeless, not destined to anything, "You crush everything you touch, Midas," I whisper, "how much will you burn before you realize that your own robes are on fire?"

He growls, taking my chin roughly between his thumb and forefinger, "everything!"

* * *

It's midnight before I venture from my room, my bare feet touching the cold linoleum, making no sound. I wander through the grand castle, my tear exhausted eyes tracing the angels flight on the ceiling, their fall, and their eternity I hell after all is said and done. I marvel at the grand artistry of the depiction, and feel a great need to know by whose hand it was all drawn. 

Was it some ancient vampire? Edward himself? Alice? Jasper?

"They're quite a sight, are they not?"

I jerk my eyes to the perpetrator of my solitude, and Carlisle stands like one of the brilliant seraphs, illuminating the dark corridor, "Whoever painted these was quite an artist."

He nods, smiling, "Thank you."

I raise one brow, "You?"

"In another lifetime, yes," his sigh is long, deep, full of ancient mysteries, "I painted them when my eyes were still freshly red. It kept my mind from the bloodlust."

"Right," I murmur, "I forget that you are all… vampires."

The word brings a chill to my lips.

He regards me warily for a moment, "Does it not frighten you?"

Does it? All day, I've asked myself the same question, the words like a string floating in one ear, through my mind, and out the other. I do not feel frightened—the chills I get are not from fear, but from betrayal. I do not tremble as I stand before Carlisle, nor do I feel the need to run from him.

"What scares me more," I confess quietly, "is how much it hurts to know."

I see the gears turning in his mind, and his face lightens, "Edward wanted to tell you, he did Bella. But I forbade it. I knew what it could do to your bedazzlement. I knew how it could morph affection into fear. I know how it can turn your wide-eyed passion for him into naked horror. I've seen it many times over. I feared for his heart, you see."

"You speak of Edward as if he is the apple of your eye," I whisper, settling softly into conversation with this inscrutable creature before me, "do you not have many other sons and daughters to be insanely proud of?""Edward was my first son," he says carefully, "the first that I created. You see, the family Volturi is all a ruse. None except Aro, Marcus and Caius are truly related. It is a family formed by power, not by love or blood."

"I see," but, truly, I just did not want to know. Not yet. Created. Family. Power. Blood. Love. They were all foreign concepts to me. But it was not Carlisle I wished to explain them.

"I was inspired by the Sistine Chapel," he whispers.

"It is a shame that it is no more," I smile sadly at him, "it was truly a work of art."

"Things have their time," he says, looking directly at me now, "they prosper and fade—all things. What keeps one thing alive longer than another, I wonder?"

"I suppose it is sheer will."

"Will," Carlisle mutters, looking back up at the angels flying across the ceiling, trapped in this castle, dreaming of a blue sky one day.

* * *

___We are all the same_

___Human in all our ways and all our pain_

___So let it be_

___There's a love that could fall down like rain_

___Let us see_

___Let forgiveness wash away the pain_

___What we need_

___And no one really knows what they are searching for_

___We Believe_

___This world is crying for so much more_

* * *

**_I know, you think I totally went off topic at the end, but really it's completely relevant. Look deeper I urge you!_**


	9. To See Red

_**T**__o__** S**__ee__** R**__ed_

_"compromise is but the sacrifice of one right or good in the hope of retaining another--too often ending in the loss of both."_

_Tyron Edwards _

* * *

All he can think… is that he somehow failed her. 

"Bella," her name slips from his lips in an ode, and gods, does he _miss_ her. Her sweet face, that little curl that always tickles her ear, the secrets in her smiles.

He looks like a prevailing Apollo as he stands on the edge of the hazardous cliff, watching the clouds race across the moon. Charlie does nothing to help his only daughter, only sits and waits. But what good is that? Are they not in the middle of a war? Are they not _meant_ to fight for things like this, for their princess?

He sighs, feeling insignificant. If he were to go to her, to save her… but they are fruitless thoughts, ridiculous ones. What could he do in the face of England's great army? He thinks of Achilles, the one man wrecking ball, of Odysseus, of Romeo, and a blush blossoms on his cheeks in humiliation. He could never be as strong as the warrior, as clever as the king, as desperate as the lover.

Comparing himself to them makes him feel unworthy. But hasn't he always felt as if he didn't deserve Bella? Every kiss, every touch, and in the back of his mind it was always _she can do better than me_.

But at the same time, he doesn't want to just let her go. He doesn't want the English to have her, surely. He doesn't want to leave things the way they are—her not knowing his true feelings, and him not knowing hers. He can almost taste the resolve on his tongue, the sheer will for closure, or perhaps for something more?

"Jacob."

The youth sighs in irritation. He's tired of just talking, of the old men arguing without action.

"Charlie," he grunts, showing disrespect to his king, to his father's best friend as he's never done before. The graying man appears in his peripheral vision, standing a foot shorter than him, shoulder to shoulder.

"Look, kid," the king's gruff voice is some, small comfort, "I know what you're out here brooding about. And I know that you might think my priorities aren't exactly straight--."

But Jacob won't let him finish before he turns on the older man, furious eyes alight, "No. No, I _don't_ think you're priorities are _straight_ at all! Bella is your daughter, Charlie, you're only one! Don't you care at all? Don't you care at all if she dies for you and your futile cause?"

"Futile?" the whisper is harsh, cutting, and Charlie feels the slight deep in his bones, "Is that what you think, Jake? You think all this is for nothing? It's Bella I'm fighting for, Bella I'm struggling for! And she _knows_ that. And she's fighting for it too."

"Char--."

"Bella wants to win this war as much as I do. Bella wants to live free as much as we _all_ do."

"People make sacrifices in wartime, Jake. Bella's just so happens to be making the biggest one of all."

_Herself._

* * *

_Don't carry the world upon your shoulders_

_For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool_

_By making his world a little colder_


	10. To Err Is Human

I love, love, love that you guys have shown support in this story. Thank you much. However, and not to sound picky or whiny, but a lot of you have put me on your alerts or on your faves and not left me a review! I just want to know _why_ you like it, not only that you _do_. Pretty please review for me?

I'm saying right now that this chapter will be edited. Fixed. I'm not happy with it, but I have a strong need to get to the next one. Haha, just be warned you might not like this one.

* * *

_**T**__o __**E**__rr __**I**__s __**H**__uman_

"_You can close your eyes to the things you do not want to see, but you cannot close your heart to the things you do not want to feel."_

_anonymous_

* * *

I've never really given a thought to simplicity; to what a blessing it would be should it gift me with its bliss. My life has always been wrought with chaos, ripe with sharp turns and unexpected obstacles. Being the dethroned princess of a falling nation made simplicity a foreign concept. And I'd never longed for it.

Now, as the gentle surf licks at my toes, I find myself imagining an alternate universe. One where I'm happy, married, a mother. A reality where there is no threat of looming war. Where there are no assassinations or rivers of blood or kings at each other's throats. I wonder what's brought on these thoughts that have never plagued me before. Edward? Or is it the feeling that something drastic has happened, and I am merely sitting, waiting here for the consequences to reveal themselves?

From my perch on the damp rocks it is easy to see when the door opens from the servant's quarters in the kitchen, easier to see the radiant beauty that emerges from them. Edward walks across the sand, hazy sunlight kissing his skin, erasing all thoughts from my mind. He is dressed the most casually I've ever seen him—brown breaches and a loose, light tunic. His feet are bare as mine, auburn hair deliciously free in the breeze.

In moments he is before me, his torso level with my knees, his hands resting uselessly beside my thighs.

I sigh, "Edward."

It must be the utterance of his name from my lips that lightens his eyes once again to golden-rod, that paints that perfectly imperfect smile across his mouth, "Good morning, Bella."

Something tugs gently within me as he says my name, and even though I'm still angry, still hurt from the lies, I smile too.

"I owe you an apology," he whispers to the wind, and is voice is carried gently to my ears, "No, I owe you much more than that."

I don't respond. I wouldn't know what to say.

"When you first came here as a prisoner—when I first saw you," I blush, remembering our awkward first meeting, "you smelled so delicious Bella. My nature, my instincts were screaming at me to take you then. My mind wasn't so sure."

I furrow my brow and he can see I am confused as his hand comes up to smooth the crease from my forehead, "It is in me to kill, Bella. My body demands blood to stay reasonably sentient. Some people appeal to me more than others. You are one of those rare few," I feel my heart constrict at the thought of Edward, blood thirsty and suffering each time in my presence. If I had known what he was _then_ would I have noticed his internal struggle? Would I have cared? "But you were lovely, and witty, and quick of tongue," he continues, twirling a lock of my windswept hair between his fingers, "and I was enraptured by your intricacy. I considered telling you—if only to be fair—when I began to care for you as much more than a guard for his charge. I began to notice how beautiful you looked in the morning all groggy with mussed hair. I love how you speak your mind, your heart—how wonderfully honest you are. But I didn't want to frighten you with the truth. I didn't want you to look at me as you looked at me the other night…"

He chuckles sadly, and I know the climax is coming. The big 'but' at the end of every good thing. The tragic, contradictory part that no one likes to hear.

"Bella," he mutters, smile slipping into nonexistence, "I've lived a long time and never have I felt this way. There have been few others of course, but none have meant to me what you mean now. It's amazing how you've managed to work your way into my heart in such short a time, in such difficult a circumstance.

"I don't deserve your affections, I _shouldn't_ have them. I'm dangerous, to you most especially. But the least I beg for is your forgiveness, your understanding in why we can never be."

Fury rises in me hot and fast, and the words come as they always have, easily, "I won't understand that," I say quietly, "You're foolish to think that I don't already care for you, Edward, that I'm not already attached. You've had my forgiveness since the moment you walked out here, and you'll always have it… unconditionally. I _do_ understand that you're dangerous, that you're a hazard to my very life but I don't _care_. _I don't care_. It's too late to be cautious. This," I motion vaguely to the space between us, "is already too much to bury. Don't ask me to forget about you, Edward. _I can't_. I _won't_."

I feel as if I've set aflame, my skin hot with the unrefined sincerity in my words. His skin is cold as ice. We are unbalanced. We are opposites. But we make up two sides of a bizarre whole.

"This goes against--."

"I don't care."

"But our families--."

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

"Bella…"

"Edward," I whisper harshly, taking his face between my hands, "stop thinking."

He laughs huskily and the warmth in my belly ignites as his eyes smolder, locking on to mine. His arms wrap around my back, and his mouth hungrily searches for my lips, joining us in a heated kiss. There is an underlying feeling of danger now, of prohibition… and I can only clutch him tighter.

* * *

Aro has not returned to the castle in two days. I've not seen hide nor hair of any of the royal family, in fact—except for Edward and Alice. Carlisle and Esme have retreated to their summer home—Cambria, while Emmett, Rosalie, and Jasper remain here in Bristol.

A petal becomes fine dust between my fingertips as I grate the little, purple piece. I've picked thirty of them so far; from roses, lilies, tulips, hydrangeas, marigolds. My body is buried in the garden, my hair tangled in the stems of the flora. Long, wispy grass tickles at my skin, engulfing me in a natural ecstasy.

I'd always loved the serenity of nature, the pure, brutal honesty it depicted. There were no façades to keep, no secrets. Just the bees and the flowers, the predators and their prey.

Another petal falls, unidentifiable, to the sea of green below me. Footsteps approach but I pay them no mind, unconsciously closing my eyes a little tighter.

It isn't long, no, not long at all before I feel the soft, welcome pressure of his lips on mine—the sweet fill of his breath in my lungs. His kisses are cherished things, and I can't return the action without smiling to myself, thankful that I have stumbled on someone who makes me so profoundly _happy_.

"I knew I'd find you out here," he whispers, knowing not to disrupt the peace, "you seem to like it _very_ much."

I drape my arm around his neck, brushing his cheek with the rose in my hand. It's true that the garden holds no good memory; it's the same place that Q first told me of his true nature, of Edward's. But it's beautiful, and I feel home here, somehow. More connected to Ireland's green hills than anywhere else in dreary England.

"It's pretty," I offer quietly, shrugging my shoulders and feeling them roll against his hands on my back, "and quiet."

I barely catch his furrowed brow before he lowers his head to my chest, his hair tickling the skin of my collar bone. I squirm until I am comfortable beneath him, and I feel his body relax into mine. I can't smother the fire that ignites within me every time he is even near, so it is especially hard to extinguish the blaze that comes to life when we touch. Can he feel the heat?

Slowly, almost shyly, his long fingers begin to trace designs on my waist, skittering across my skin as a flat rock on a pond. I feel the blush before it shows itself. Not one of embarrassment, one of arousal, but it soon turns to mortification when Edward lifts his head, following the rush of blood with darkening eyes.

"I'm sorry," I breathe, though I can't say why. He shakes his head, grins, and then gently lowers his head again, increasing the pressure of his ministrations on my stomach.

It's a rare moment, one that fills me with something greater than just lust.

I don't know the feeling. If I had to describe it in words I would be unable, lost, grasping at straws to try and explain exactly how my heart swells with simply the feel of him so close—both body and otherwise. Somehow, Edward and I are connected far deeper than just skin to flesh. And I relish in that bond, hoping I will never lose it, hoping it will never fade.

* * *

Alice twirls my hair into intricate designs, taking down each one just as carefully as she put it up. Finally, she settles for leaving it just the way I've always had it—waving softly to my waist.

"You have such pretty hair, Bella," she says wistfully, running a hand through her own short locks, "I'm jealous."

Laughing, I smile at her through the mirror, "Don't be. It's a lot of work. Maybe I'll chop all of mine off too…"

Her playful eye roll is a comfort—Alice and I have become closer since the Night Everything Changed. She makes me feel somewhat more comfortable here; doing my hair, conversing with me on the trivial things, and those things that plague me about my relationship with her brother. She's a good companion, a good friend, and it bothers me that I was so cruel to her before.

Edward appears at the door a while later, invading our good mood with his haggard frown. Immediately my smile slips, and I walk tentatively toward him, "What's wrong?"

"Aro's returned."

How amazing that two, simple words could send a trickle of ice down my spine. I smile bemusedly through my discomfort, "And…?"

"He wants to see us all," Edward sighs tiredly, and I can almost glimpse the gears turning in his mind, "in an hour."

"An hour," I deadpan, looking at Alice who has gone stony in the corner, "Alice?"  
Her name seems to bring her back to Earth, and she shakes her head, "Oh, I'm fine Bella," she lies, not smoothly enough, "just lost track of reality for a moment."

I bid her goodbye as she makes her excuses, the door shutting swiftly behind her. For a moment all I can do is stare at Edward—at the worried frown, the pinched brow, and the harried eyes. They flash to mine… and then we're kissing again.

His lips, soft but hard, ravage mine, turning my mouth to raw flesh beneath his. I gasp, and Edward is not deaf to my pleasure. He smiles, pulling away for a moment before moving his scorching, torturous kisses down my neck, towards my chest. His hands meet him there, four fingers holding me around the torso, his thumbs gently massaging the undersides of my breasts.

A veil drapes over my eyes and the insatiable burning in my stomach returns, growling silently of its lust. I want to tell him, explain exactly how I feel for him and what I want, but he is muffling my words with his actions. How can one speak when they are immersed in rapture?

"Bella," my lips hurt, but I can't stop kissing him. My hands, shy and careful as a fox, explore the underside of his shirt, pressing against his back to feel the hard ridges and chiseled planes. His flesh feels like stone, and his skin, cold as fresh snow. But I can't be bothered by his temperature. It doesn't seem to matter to me.

"What?" I respond, and I hardly recognize my voice, quiet and breathy as it is.

"We should stop," he murmurs, lips creating tender ripples against my skin, "before I'm unable to do so."

"Don't be so dramatic," I chuckle, pulling away from him the slightest bit, "always so dramatic, Edward." But his eyes are dark, and his mouth is pinched, and I know that I've pushed to far.

I open my mouth—to apologize maybe, but he beats me to words, "_Don't_ say you're sorry," he commands, "there's nothing to be sorry for. I'm not."

Sighing, I disentangle myself from him, bringing his knuckles to my lips and kissing them, "okay," I whisper, waggling my eyebrows, making my voice low and dangerous "… onward to our judgment."

He cracks a smile, but his words contradict his actions, "Not funny, Bella."

* * *

Not funny at all, it seems.

As soon as we enter the long hall, I get the feel of a court room, of an execution perhaps. Aro sits at the head of the grand room, tapping his fingers on the arm of his splendid chair that resembles somewhat of a throne. To each King his own, I suppose.

"Isabella," he greets me curtly, red eyes swimming with an unseen fury, "Edward."

We are no more than guard and charge now, Edward's hand no where near my body, our stances stiff and unfamiliar, but somehow in sync. Though I do not know them very well, Caius and Marcus look at me with something akin to thorough knowledge. Can they read me as well as the rest of their kin seems to be able to?

"Do you know why you're here, Isabella?"

Marcus' monotone is unsettling, and an earthquake of goose flesh erupts across my skin as I utter a quiet 'no'.

He surveys me through tired, claret eyes, "Very well," but he's not speaking to me any more, but to his brother, "it seems that you're wrong about her intelligence. She seems more of an imbecile than a genius to me."

Aro laughs softly, "No, she's just a cunning little mastermind, aren't you Bella, dear?"

"You _know_," I cut in, peeved, "I'm standing right here," my gaze slides coldly to Marcus, "and I'm not an idiot. I know what you are, and now I'm here to pay the price of that knowledge. Correct?"

In the dark corner, Q stirs uncomfortably.

"Yes, yes, Bella," Aro dismisses my aggression, "You're here right now because I have nothing left to barter with. Tomorrow a courier will inform your father of your untimely death. Charlie will become enraged with grief, and he will make a hurried, unplanned attempt at storming my army," Aro's eyes meet mine with finality, "he will die, and this war will end. The way I've always wanted it to."

Before I can speak he is continuing along with his monologue, "But you won't be dead, Bella. You'll be at Cambria, you see, with Carlisle. And you'll live out your days with the knowledge that your father is dead because you are much too curious, because you simply _had_ to know things that no human should."

I look at Q, wondering what lie he told them to save his own skin.

"He won't come," I growl loudly, afraid to look at Edward, "he won't come, and you'll fail, again. The only way you'll win this war is by using your inhuman advantage! You're a tyrant, a shameless dictator! You're no king," I feel tears in my eyes at my own denial, "… you're nothing but a monster."

Aro steps from his throne and in seconds he is in front of me, grasping my chin in his stony hand, "And you are just a girl who will be the cataclysm of this war. The downfall of her people."

"No," I whisper, "_you're_ the downfall of my people. I'm just another pawn in this game of yours."

He smiles. I cry, I beg, I plead. But nothing softens him. Nothing sweetens him.

And everything I love is burning, lost to the fire in his eyes.

* * *

_is there anything  
worth looking for  
worth loving for  
worth lying for  
is there anything  
worth waiting for  
worth living for  
worth dying for_

* * *


	11. Can't Fool the Fox

_**Hello? Is anyone out there? Haha, I really think it has been two years since I updated this or any story, and I happened across this lap top that I used to write on… ah it's a long story. **_

_**I will be updating all stories in due time since my writing and I have been so kindly reunited. Enjoy.**_

_**Can't Fool the Fox**_

**Cambria****is****a****place****that****even****I****could****not****have****imagined.** It does not seem real, this castle of glass and shadow—immersed in a valley all its own. The windows shimmer with the reflections of the countryside, morphing it into an even lovelier picture than the one that surrounds me. It takes my breath away as we come upon it, and my previous motion-sickness vanishes with its radiant beauty, its terrible seduction. _Much__like__its__youngest__owner,_I muse.

Edward smiles at my childlike excitement, placing his hand affectionately around my shoulders. Out here in the middle of nowhere we are free to be what we wish—lovers, friends or enemies. We choose the most comfortable, the most natural, though there is nothing concrete to establish us as lovers.

However much I wish there were.

Thoughts of Jacob invade my mind—which is only natural when I touch upon this subject—and I cannot hide the blush of embarrassment that blooms on the apples of my cheeks. I can still hear his whispers, his promises, his breathy exclamations of pleasure. And suddenly, I wish it hadn't been Jacob that I shared that with, but Edward.

"What's wrong?"

I let my eyes slide sideways, and they land gently on his. _I__wish__I__could__tell__you._

Instead, I smile, lie, "Nothing at all."

Edward accepts the falsity after a moment of pause, and guides me through the modern surroundings of his home. His hold on me is firm, nervous, and I wonder what he has to fear here. But then the slow truth creeps up on me—and I don't know if it's what worries him, but it has already begun to plague me.

What if his family doesn't like me? And even worse, what if they don't _accept_ me?

I glance at Edward quickly and he reads the terror in my eyes, speedily trying to conceal his own. "Don't worry," he soothes, and I know immediately that his train of thought is the same as mine, "they'll like you just fine."

"Maybe," I allow, "but will they approve of this?" I squeeze his hand for emphasis, and our eyes lock once again.

He furrows his brow, scrunching his nose, "They'll just have to live with it, won't they? Besides, you already have Carlisle on your side, Bella. That's key."

I laugh quietly, "I guess."

The Cullens are a beautiful family—and I cannot help but stare as we all sit down to the lunch that only I will eat. Esme is a wonderful woman, a mother if I've ever seen one. She sits beside her glorious husband in quiet complacency, eyes on me in a surveying manor. I suppose she wants to know if I enjoy her cooking, and I wonder how many meals she's really made in her lifetime.

"This is delicious," I say, wiping my mouth on my napkin. Edward draws his eyes away from the conversation buzzing between himself and his siblings, giving me a half smile of appreciation. It feels like we're all acting somehow. Everyone is just a little too nice, a little too cautious. And I know it's because of my presence that they can't be their true selves.

"So Bella," and then there's Edward's brother, Emmett, who seems to have no sense of awkwardness at all, "how do you find my brother?"

I smile as Rosalie and Esme look down into their laps and Alice merely rolls her eyes, "Agreeable."

The air changes, and everyone seems to loosen up, settling into comfortable conversation—both with me and amongst each other. Edward jokes jovially with his mock siblings, and I find that I have never seen him so at ease. It is such a heavenly sight watching them all giggle and gossip as if I had peeled each and every one of them from the heavens myself.

Edward's hold on me never strays, and I am grateful when he excuses us, brushing his fingertips beneath my puffy eyes. "I think you could use some sleep."

I grow red and Esme smiles, "Feel at ease here, Bella, for now this is your home."

And as much as I would never cross such a kindly woman, I want to tell her_this__could__never__be__my__home._

I imagined Charlie as I dreamed.

I imagined him in the throws of battle, imagined his brandished, ancient pistol. His steely jaw and wizened eyes. I imagined his heart, raw with pain at the loss of his family, his country, his very reason for existing. I imagined him how it would look when news reached him of my failure, of my demise. I imagined him broken and bleeding and sobbing in silence.

I imagined Aro as well.

There was no comparison between the two. Where Charlie looked fifty times the warrior Aro was, I knew the old beast would crush my father with one flick of his wrist. Charlie would lay broken at Aro's feet. Crippled and useless in death.

Edward held me as I screamed.

My eyes shot open as my own noises awoke me from the nightmare.

"It's ok, Bella," Edward murmured, the feel of his lips on my forehead a cool refresher, "you're fine now."

I rolled over furiously, and he let me loose, my feet hitting the ground sharply. "No, I'm not. I'm not ok."

He could only look at me, for he couldn't see into my dreams, he knew not what had scared me so.

"Edward," I whispered, "I need to go home."

Endangering Edward's family was something that was never my intention. I didn't know that my request to leave would turn into a target painted on this small branch of the family Volturi.

"Bella, it's not that we wish to keep you prisoner," Carlisle explained to me quietly, later, "but in freeing you, I sign the death certificate of my entire family. Do you understand?"

I did understand, and as I glanced around Carlisle's small study—to where Edward stood, a stony figure by the moonlit window—I felt the world closing in on me. I feared I'd always be a prisoner. Eternally. Stuck here in Never land while the world outside died, while my father's vision became just a dream, just a legend.

And even though I felt this way, I found myself saying, "I don't understand. I don't get why you're all so scared to be free."

"Bella," Edward warned me with his tone.

"No, Edward," I glanced back to Carlisle, who had sat back in his chair, eyes now hidden in shadow, "you have the power to change this, but you wont. Instead you hide here, away from Aro's immediate rule, away from the war, the problems. You're immortal, unstoppable… and yet shy as a blossom in winter."

I can see the twitch of Carlisle's lips as he leans forward again, "You don't know of what you speak, Bella."

"I know that, had I been the immortal one, I wouldn't sit idly by as my brother brought about the end of an entire people."

A growl erupted and I wasn't sure if it was Edward or Carlisle, but it was low and menacing.

"You would have me overthrow Aro? The most ancient of our race? Do you think I would be welcomed by the rest of the royal family were I to do so, Bella? Do you think they would turn face on their leader so easily and cave to my rule?" Carlisle said in an even tone, "It would only bring about another civil rebellion."

"You won't even try?" I pleaded.

"You mentioned why I was so afraid to be free, Bella. I'm not. I'm afraid to lose even one member of my small family were I to make things right."

"But it's not just about you!" I yelled, my hands breaking into seat, "it's about this place, Carlisle. After the war, could you look an Irishman in the eye and say that you did everything you could to save their people? Could you live with yourself after we are all dead? Do you think Aro will really stop at Ireland? Pretty soon the world will bow to him, and what will you do then?"

It was a long, tense moment before he spoke again, "I would fight."

"Then fight now," I whispered, "If not for me, then for everyone else."

And I laid my heart on my sleeve for him to see until he murmured, "I will."

"Edward?"

He turned black eyes on me. Perhaps he wasn't used to anyone speaking against his father figure. Perhaps he thought me rude, disrespectful. But I only thought of myself as completely right.

"Im sorry," I whispered, "but someone had to make you all see what you're sitting on."

"You thought we didn't know?" he laughed, "Bella, this will not end well."

I breathed out, exasperated, "Look, Edward, my father is so important to me, he means more than anything. I cant just let him die, not now after I've discovered what you can do. Not now, when I've found that you and your family have the power to change the course of things."

"You would have us all fight for you?" He wants so badly the answer to that.

"No, I would have you all fight for what's right, Edward, fight for your freedom."

In less than a second he is in front of me, so close I can count every single lash on his eyelid. His mouth breathes into me sweet nectar that I want only to taste. In moments, he has bewitched me, and I am putty in his grasp.

"You're playing such a dangerous game Bella," but he seems the only dangerous thing to me now.

"I only want the best… for everyone," I gasped, breathing in more of his delicious breath.

He sees the effect he has on me, and sensuously he touches his lips to mine, "_Edward_."

"Bella, Carlisle will fight for what's right, my family will follow him. But I…" he licks my bottom lip and my eyes slide shut, "I will only be fighting for you."

Slowly, he tilts my head back, and his devilish tongue play circles on my neck, on the pulse thrumming through my thin, pallid skin. I want to breathe, but I've forgotten how, his hands burning prints in my back. He hums his appreciation against my skin as my heart increases its rhythm.

I manage to gasp, "Why?"

"Can't you see it, silly?" His hands have slid the shoulders of my dress down, milky skin revealed to only him and the moonlight, "Bella, I love you."

His words make me dizzy with infatuation, and I want to scream that I love him too, that I want to encompass his very being, but his skin is on mine now and I have utterly lost all rationale. I sigh his name as he kisses burning trails along my flesh, down my middle towards my center. My dress puddles at my feet, and I am completely exposed.

He lays me gently down on the plush carpet, eyes roaming over my form, "You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." He kisses me sweetly, and as he learns every curve and inch of my body, we forget about war and family and hate.

In this moment, we know only of love..


End file.
